


Honey and Salt

by Champagne



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Canon Typical Weirdness, Developing Relationship, M/M, Minor Allusions to Childhood Bullying, Minor Internalized Acephobia, Office RomCom, Slow Burn, mundane AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28533696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Champagne/pseuds/Champagne
Summary: to hateis an easy lazy thingbut to lovetakes strengtheveryone hasbut not all arewilling to practice-rupi kaur
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Sasha James, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Tim Stoker
Comments: 53
Kudos: 98





	1. drinking and poorly thought out dares

**Author's Note:**

> hallo friends im back with a really long fic where nothing happens! lol  
> there are no entities in this, so it's all just.......not exactly NORMAL but not as wild as canon, ya know?
> 
> tags to be added with updates~
> 
> Anyway! This fic is supremely self indulgent, but I hope you enjoy!

“We’re heading out!” Tim called, and nudged Sasha, saying quieter, “We should invite Martin.”

“Do you think he’d join us?” Sasha paused in putting on her coat, one arm in a sleeve and the rest hanging loosely behind her. She looked to the breakroom, where Martin was cleaning the dishes from the past week.

Tim shrugged. “Probably. I know Jon won’t, but Martin might.”

Sasha shrugged too, and finished donning her coat. She went over to the breakroom doorway and poked her head in. Tim heard her talk but couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, until she pulled back and said over her shoulder, “We can wait!”

Tim grinned at her. “Sweet.”

She glanced at Jon’s office door as she walked over to him, and slotted herself against his side. Tim squeezed her and rubbed her shoulder. “Should we ask Jon?”

“He’s just going to say no.”

“It’s rude not to ask.” Sasha pouted up at him. It was no Martin Blackwood variety of puppy eyes, but she was still adorable.

Tim heaved a sigh. “Fine, I’ll ask.” He let go of Sasha to head over to Jon’s door, and knocked twice with the knuckle of his middle finger. “Hey Jon.”

Jon grunted, so Tim took that as assent and opened the door. He received a glare, and grinned in response. “What do you want, Tim?” Jon asked, half hiding behind the open folder in his hands.

“We’re all going to the pub,” he said, and nodded over his shoulder. “Do you want to join us?”

Jon looked back down at his work. “No.” He inhaled like he was going to say something else, but then just sighed. He said nothing more.

Tim shrugged, and closed the door again. “Told you,” he said to Sasha.

Sasha started to lecture him on being nice to Jon again when Martin came out of the breakroom, drying his hands with a rag. “Sorry!” He tossed it onto his desk and grabbed his things. “I didn’t mean to take so long.”

“No rush.” Tim opened his arm to Sasha again, and she took her place against his side.

Martin glanced at them, but didn’t ask.

Sasha answered him anyway: “Tim is tall and warm,” she said. “And I’m small and cold.”

“It is rather chilly down here, huh?” was Martin’s response. He was a little pink in the face, and it was adorable.

“Maybe not for you,” Tim said, with a chuckle. “You’re built like a polar bear and have enough jumpers to clothe London.”

“I-” Martin huffed, and it trailed into a laugh. “I don’t have _that_ many,” he said.

“That’s up for debate. Come on, we should head out so we get a good table before the rest of the day crowd gets out.” Tim nodded over his shoulder and started walking, falling easily into step with Sasha glued to his side.

From behind them, Martin commented, “You two would do great at a three legged race.”

“Oh god no.” Sasha laughed, then laughed more at Tim’s offended scoff. “His legs are far too long!”

“You’re not _that_ much shorter than I am,” Tim griped. He tilted his head at an angle to Sasha could see his pout without taking his eyes off of the path in front of them. In response, Sasha scoffed herself.

“You’re all leg,” Sasha told him. “I’m mostly torso. There’s a difference, and it’s an important one when it comes to the logistics of a three legged race.”

“I think I regret bringing it up.” Martin’s voice wavered with contained laughter, and he sped up enough to get to the door in front of them so he could hold it open for his conjoined friends. “Please don’t continue to talk about this all night.”

“No promises,” Sasha said, and Tim laughed heartily.

The conversation bounced between topics on their way to the pub, from work to grievances about life, to grievances about _work_ , to hobbies and recently released movies and music. It was nice to spend time together and catch up, even though the last time they’d had a free weekend was less than a month ago.

And that topic brought forth this question from Martin: “So…” He looked down into his drink and his face colored, freckles standing out more against the redness. “Did Jon not want to come this time?”

“Nah,” Tim said with a shrug. “He looked busy. Not _actually_ busy, but busy in that way he gets when he finds something that interests him.”

“Actually interests him,” Sasha amends. “So he’ll probably be stuck on this track for a few days. I hope he at least remembers to eat this time.”

“Doubtful.” Tim snorts a laugh and shakes his head. “I’m surprised he’s still alive, given how bad he is at taking care of himself, apparently.”

“I don’t think it’s fair to talk about him like that,” Martin grumbled, mostly into his drink and barely loud enough to hear over the ambience of the pub.

Tim levels a partially incredulous stare at him. “Have you met the man?” he asked, and crossed his arms, scrunching up his nose in distaste. “He’s--”

“Our _boss_ ,” Sasha interjected, and wagged her finger at him. “And Martin’s right, we shouldn’t talk about him like this.”

“At least admit he can be an ass,” Tim said, and raised both eyebrows at Sasha, who scoffed. “And I’ll drop this whole thing. I know he plays favorites! He’s a _lot_ nicer to you than to me and Martin!” When she said nothing in her own defense, Tim looked to Martin. “You’ve noticed it too, right?”

Martin’s face grew warm, and he looked down at the table.

“He’s known me the longest!” Sasha said, finally, and smacked Tim’s shoulder to get his attention. “And I don’t think he’s playing _favorites_ , I just think he’s bad at social interactions as a whole. And we still haven’t dropped the topic!”

Tim gave a noncommittal hum, and Sasha smacked his shoulder again, harder and with purpose. It had both of them laughing.

Which was cut short when Martin mumbled, “He’s not _all_ bad…”

The silence continued long enough that Martin glanced up at them, and found them both openly staring. Sasha looked a little surprised, but Tim’s expression was closer to suspicious.

He looked back down at the table.

“Martin,” Tim said, drawing his name out. “Do you... _like_ him?” Martin hunched his shoulders, and something about this posture made Tim add hastily, “There’s nothing _wrong_ with that, but like…” He made an odd noise, like a scoff and a snort. “ _Him_ ? I _just_ got done saying he can be an ass!”

Martin huffed. Sasha said to Tim, “He _can_ be nice, you know. He’s just…” She waved her hand in circles, searching. “What’s the right word…”

“An ass?”

Sasha smacked Tim’s shoulder again. “Stop calling him that!”

“It’s true, though!” Tim paused in his berating to drink the rest of his pint. Sasha rolled her eyes and took a decent drink herself.

Martin shook his head. “He’s just stressed,” he half mumbled.

“I can’t imagine what he’s like when he’s _not_ stressed, then,” Tim said. He nudged Martin with his foot under the table. “You should ask him out.” Martin sputtered. Sasha smacked Tim’s shoulder a fourth time, and Tim held his arms out in a confused gesture. “What? Maybe it’ll get him to loosen up a little!”

“You _know_ he’s going to say no, Tim!” Sasha covered her face and groaned into her palms, before looking up at Martin. “Don’t you dare do it. You know how much of a stickler Jon is for workplace etiquette.”

“Oh right,” Tim said, not sounding like he’d forgotten that at all, and took another drink. It was out of Sasha’s pint, which had her squawking his name and sliding it to the opposite side of the table, out of his reach. “How about a dare, then.”

“We’re not in school anymore, Tim!” Sasha made another motion to smack him, but stopped short and just groaned loudly. “I’m sorry I keep hitting you!”

Tim chuckled into his fist. “It’s not like it hurts.”

“Still!”

“A dare?” Martin asked, his brain finally catching up to the rest of the conversation. His mind buzzed with panic and nerves and alcohol, and possibility.

“Yeah, you know. Like truth or dare.” Tim made a playful reach for Sasha’s pint again before he leaned back in his chair.

Martin blinked. “...what would I even get out of this dare?”

“He might say yes?” Tim raised a brow at him. “And if he says no, you can just say I dared you. It’s a win-win.”

“No it’s not,” Sasha muttered into her own glass, and finished the rest of her beer. She shot Tim a glare, and got a grin in return.

Martin looked down at his glass, and shrugged. Tim hollered as Martin downed the rest of his as well. “Okay.”

Sasha made a choking nose. “ _Okay_?”

“I think Martin is a lightweight,” Tim commented to her, and nudged her with his elbow. “A few cheap beers and he’s accepting dares. We’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. She made no comment about how this wasn’t the first time, nor the last time, they’d ever gone drinking on a weekday, and that Martin never consumed enough to affect his judgement enough to something-- well, stupid. Like this!

Martin nodded. “Okay,” he said again.

“Martin, please tell me you’re not _actually_ going to ask out Jon just because Tim dared you.” Sasha folded her hands in front of her and held them up, pleading. “ _Please_.”

“He’s right,” Martin said, and furrowed his brow when it was harder to enunciate than he anticipated. “It’s a win-win.”

“That’s not what a win-win scenario is!” Sasha shouted at the table, and then groaned loudly.

“I’m holding you to this, Martin,” Tim said, and laughed as Sasha threw her arms into the air. “No using intoxication as an excuse to get out of it.”

Martin nodded. “Okay.”

* * *

Tim leaned against Martin’s desk and waggled his eyebrows at him.

Martin looked down and felt himself flush. “This is a terrible idea.”

“It is,” Tim agreed. “But what’s the worst that could happen? He says no, because of workplace romance? Because I’m almost certain Jonathan Sims is not _just_ into women.”

Martin covered his face and groaned. Tim chuckled.

“I really don’t want to do this,” Martin said into his hands.

“Then don’t,” Tim said, and Martin looked up at him in surprise. Tim shrugged. “If you’re that uncomfortable about it, don’t do it. I just reserve the right to never let you live down the fact that you broke a dare.”

“What is this, primary school?” Martin pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Sort of.” Tim chuckled again. “So? Go ask him out!” He nudged Martin’s leg with his foot. “Go get ‘em, tiger!”

“You’re ridiculous.” But Martin stood. Sasha gave him a thumbs up with a pleading expression on her face, but he didn’t let himself stop until he was knocking on Jon’s office door. There was no response, but he didn’t hear Jon recording a statement, so he let himself in.

Jon looked haggard; his hair was frizzy and sticking up at odd angles, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He also didn’t look up when Martin let himself in, and continued reading whatever it was that was in front of him. Even when Martin cleared his throat, Jon didn’t seem to notice.

Martin felt the uncomfortable sensations of his heart pounding in his chest and his knees wobbling with nerves, but he took the few steps to sit in the chair in front of Jon’s desk anyway. Jon did look up, once Martin was seated, and he arched a brow at him without a word.

Martin swallowed, or tried to, but his mouth was terribly dry.

“What is it, Martin?” Jon asked, sounding as irate as usual, but also raspy. Martin briefly wondered if he was coming down with something or if he just hadn’t said a word in hours. Jon finally set down the paper he was previously reading when Martin shook his head.

“Are you…” Martin tried swallowing again. His tongue felt like sandpaper. Jon was fixing him with an unamused stare, the frown on his face growing deeper with his clear annoyance at the interruption. “Are you busy this weekend?” Martin asked in a rush.

Jon’s head tilted slightly, but his expression didn’t change. “Busy?”

Martin cleared his throat, but that didn’t help his dry mouth at all. “Yeah, busy. I--” He really wished he had any saliva to his name.

Jon’s shoulders sagged a little, and Martin withered under his cold stare. “Get to the point, Martin.”

“Do you want to go out with me?” Martin asked, so quickly he almost didn’t understand _himself_ , and immediately regretted the question as it hung in the air.

Jon stared at him, his brow furrowed and frowning in the same ways as if he was concentrating on something, and Martin covered his face with his hands and waited.

“Do I…” Jon trailed off, and after a moment of silence, Martin dared to look at him from between his fingers.

Jon was looking down at his desk, eyes unfocused but his expression still pinched in concentration. Martin flinched when he focused on him again, and his voice was harsh when he said, “You can’t be serious.”

“I--I am?” he squeaked, more of a reflex than a proper response.

He watched a few emotions play out on Jon’s face in wonder, as if Jon’s internal monologue was scrolling across it. His pinched expression changed into a full on grimace, to a scowl, to a normal frown but with a vulnerable look in his eyes that left Martin breathless. Then, Jon cleared his throat and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms, his expression taking on that pinched concentration again. “When?”

Martin blinked. Jon’s scowl returned for a moment before Martin blurted out, “This, uh, this Saturday? I know, I know a good pub--”

“I don’t drink,” Jon said immediately, and if Martin didn’t know better he’d say Jon looked almost _apologetic_.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know.” Martin rubbed the back of his neck. Jon’s frown grew deeper, but he said nothing while Martin sat there and thought about it. “How about a...uh, a bookstore?”

“...for a date,” Jon said, not quite a question.

Martin shrugged, feeling the flush on his cheeks darken. “Anywhere can be romantic?” he tried.

Jon scoffed, but a ghost of a smile appeared on his face and it left Martin breathless again. “Okay then. A bookstore.”

“How about Friday instead, then?” Martin asked, and Jon arched a brow at him. “We can go after work instead of making it an all day thing.”

Jon mumbled something under his breath that Martin didn’t catch, and he sat forward again. “Alright,” he said, and picked up the paper on his desk again. “Friday, after work.” And after a brief moment, the look of concentration returned and Martin knew talking any further was pointless.

He got what he wanted, anyway.

Tim was standing just outside of Jon’s office door when Martin exited, and Sasha was in the middle of throwing herself into her chair when he closed it behind him. He looked at Tim, who was grinning, then looked at Sasha, who was pointedly not looking at him, and then went to sit down at his desk. Tim pulled up a chair and smacked Martin across the back, making him cough.

“See! I knew it’d all work out!” Tim laughed. “You’ve got a date!”

“I’ve…” Martin stared at Tim, watched the amusement and concern battle for dominance across Tim’s face, and blinked. It felt like a heavy weight crashed down on his back when the realization finally hit him that _oh_.

_I have a date._

_I have a date with_ **Jon**.

“Oh my god.” Martin covered his face with his hands.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Tim said, and sounded more affectionate than Martin found strictly necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i know i tagged this as slow burn, because i view it as a such! i dont care that Martin asked him out in chapter one, this is my fic and mom said it's my turn with the serotonin
> 
> AND!! THIS IS MY FIRST LONG FIC! I'm so excited to get to putting this out there, and I'm hoping that this also means I'll work on it more consistently instead of chipping away at it slowly over the course of six months lol


	2. a thorn by any other name

The days leading up to Friday couldn’t decide on if they wanted to crawl by or fly by. Wednesday dragged, with the most exciting thing happening being Tim forgetting to turn off the coffee pot and burning the coffee. Thursday was a flurry of activity, because Elias decided he wanted to make an impromptu visit. They ran around trying to make the archives look at least _somewhat_ presentable, and then spent the entirety of Elias’ visit trying to weedle more filing cabinets and boxes, because they were running low already.

Friday felt like it did both. The start of the day flew by, with Sasha accidentally backing into an already lopsided and broken bookcase and causing its final demise. Jon came out to investigate the noise and showed genuine concern for Sasha, which she rubbed in Tim’s face once Jon was back in his office, and then the three of them sat down to get everything cleaned up.

After lunch was a snail’s pace. It was business as usual, and Martin found himself constantly checking his desk clock for the second when work ended. It felt like it took twice as long as usual, and he chucked a plastic paperweight at Tim when Tim sang, “A watched pot never boils, Martin~”

Jon, for the most part, seemed unperturbed by the approaching bookstore date all week. On Wednesday, he looked remarkably better, cleaned and shaven and at least somewhat rested, but on Tuesday he was back to his old frazzled self. Tim insisted that Jon was snappier than usual, while Sasha insisted he wasn’t as snappy as usual, but Martin, personally, hadn’t noticed a difference, and pointedly avoided thinking about it so as not to psych himself out. Aside from the blatant, and admittedly awkward, concern for Sasha because of the collapsing bookcase, it was as if everything was normal and he didn’t have a fast approaching date.

It was driving Martin insane.

The instant the clock turned five, he was out of his chair and grabbing his coat and messenger bag with his research notes in it. Tim waggled his eyebrows at him as he put both on, and he laughed when Martin stuck his tongue out at him and went over to Jon’s office door.

He paused in front of it, took a few fortifying breaths, and hesitated, given that he heard Jon’s voice before he knocked. Instead, he leaned in to listen. It sounded like Jon was recording a statement, but before Martin could begin to piece together what the statement was about, he heard a _clack_ and Jon sigh heavily. No other sound came from Jon’s office, and after another few moments of hesitation, Martin knocked.

“Come in,” Jon said, and sounded tired. He was rubbing his temples, his glasses in his other hand, when Martin entered. “Yes, what is it?”

“Are…” Martin paused when Jon froze, and waited until Jon squinted up at him, refusing to put on his glasses to see. “Are you ready to go?”

Jon cursed quietly, and set down his glasses to scrub his face with both hands. “Right, yes, the bookstore,” he said, voice muffled.

Martin frowned. “Did you forget?”

Jon picked up his glasses again and put them on, half standing from his chair to reach every part of his desk as he gathered statements and notes into a neat pile. Martin noticed the lack of response and, along with the furrowed brow and grimace on Jon’s face, knew the answer to be a yes.

“Ah.”

“Just give me a minute,” Jon grumbled, and started putting statements and accompanying notes into labeled folders, which he then put into his own bag along with his laptop-- which Martin just noticed was hidden under even more folders. He did a once-over of his desk, his hands clenching and unclenching, and then grabbed his coat from where he had it draped over the back of his chair. “Where are we going?”

“It’s just down the road,” Martin said. “It’s called _Reader’s World_.”

Jon said something under his breath, and Martin caught it, hearing, “I’ve been meaning to check it out since it opened.”

“It’s been open for two years,” Martin said, half a question.

Jon stopped in the process of putting on his coat and gave Martin a withering stare. He resumed when Martin mumbled an apology. He stopped again when Tim’s voice said from the office doorway, “Leaving on time today, boss?”

The look Jon gave Tim was more accurately described as a glare, and he said, irate, “Yes, Tim, I am.”

“Well, have fun!” Tim pushed off of the doorframe and disappeared from sight.

Jon shook his head and turned to Martin, his expression softening just slightly. “I’m ready whenever you are,” he said.

Martin blinked, and then started walking, Jon following just behind him. He paused when Jon closed his office door, and saw Sasha giving him a genuine thumbs up this time, no pleading on her face. She made a motion of breathing, and Martin found himself copying her, inhaling deeply, and she smiled and nodded at him, something like pride in her eyes.

Martin looked back at Jon when Jon cleared his throat, and he started walking again, Jon still following just behind him. The silence was a little awkward, and Martin felt his nervousness start growing in the pit of his stomach, but he didn’t know what to say and so he stayed on the safe side and just didn’t say anything at all.

It was Jon that said the first word, as soon as they reached the bottom of the stairs leading out of the institute. “So,” he said, trailing off for a long moment. “This bookstore.”

There was another pause, so Martin supplied, “ _Reader’s World_.”

Jon hummed, and didn’t say anything else.

Martin frowned, and decided once again to play it safe and not to say anything. The growing pit of nerves in his stomach was a constant reminder that, even if he did have a crush on Jon, he didn’t know much of anything _about_ Jon. He knew how Jon liked his tea and, on occasion, his coffee; he knew how Jon’s face was an open book while he was reading just about anything; he knew that Jon had a sense of humor so dry it was sometimes impossible to pick up on the joke as he said it. But nothing about his interests or hobbies.

When they reached a red light to wait for the pedestrian crossing, Jon cleared his throat again, and Martin looked over at him. Jon was looking out at the streets and the other people, but he was definitely talking to Martin when he asked, “Why a bookstore?”

Martin blinked. His mind skipped over apologies and self consciousness, and he said, “I figured you like reading.”

Jon scoffed and he shook his head, and said nothing to that.

Martin frowned. “...do you not?”

Jon said something quietly to himself, but with the sound of traffic and other people, Martin didn’t catch it. He was beginning to see a theme, in Jon talking to himself. He stepped a little closer to Jon, not close enough for them to touch, and hoped to catch the next comment Jon muttered to himself.

“Looking for books is fun,” Martin said, pointedly ignoring the roiling in his stomach.

“I never denied that,” Jon replied, sounding annoyed. He still wasn’t looking at Martin.

“They recently opened a cafe, too. Inside the store, I mean. We can get something to eat.”

Jon did look at him now, his brow furrowed. He wasn’t frowning, so Martin was at a bit of a loss on how to interpret this expression in this context.

“Unless you actually remembered to have lunch today,” Martin tried, and Jon scoffed again and looked away, scowling. It was honestly a little endearing, and Martin found himself smiling. “So that’s a no. They have sandwiches and a lot of pastries, so I’m sure there’ll be something you like there.”

Jon mumbled again, and Martin felt a wave of pride that he was close enough to catch it, even despite the ambient noises of London at a little past five. Jon mumbled, “Invariably, they’ll have _some_ kind of vegetarian option.”

Martin blinked, and looked down at him. “Are you a vegetarian?”

He didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but he did and it made Jon’s expression change to something closed off with a partial grimace and a raised eyebrow. “Is that a problem?” he asked, and his voice was, oddly, not as clipped as usual, but sounded twice as icy as a result.

“No, no, it’s not. I just--” Martin bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something stupid without thinking, and then said, “I just never see you eat lunch at the archive, so it’s, it’s just new information is all. Really.”

Jon’s face softened back into what Martin recognized as his neutral expression, even if it was still a frown and slightly furrowed brow. What did Tim call it? Resting-something? Resting bitch face!

Ah, he immediately regretted thinking that. He felt guilty for the insult and embarrassed about the guilt and knew his face grew red as a result. Luckily, Jon seemed allergic to eye contact, and kept his eyes in front of them.

They started walking with the flow of pedestrians once the light finally turned over, and they fell back into a semi awkward silence. Martin got a block and half before it was too much for him, and he asked, “How long have you been a vegetarian?”

“Since university,” Jon said, almost immediately, as if he was waiting for Martin to ask that specific question.

Martin had a brief internal debate on whether or not this conversation could lead to something unpleasant, given how little he knew of Jon’s past, but decided to ask anyway. “What made you switch?

“My--” Jon cut himself off, and his normal frown deepened to an almost comical degree. “Georgie Barker,” he said, instead of whatever he was going to say before.

Martin blinked. “From What the Ghost?” He used to do research for her, and Ghost Hunt UK, before he got a job at the Magnus Institute. He still kept in contact with Georgie, even if it wasn’t nearly as often as he’d like. He missed her stories, which were always hilarious even as he felt bad for the subject of them, her ex-boyfriend Jonathan.

Jon cleared his throat. “The very same.” 

“You knew her in university?” Martin blinked again. He felt two points connect in his head with a _snap_ as soon as he said those words, and blurted out, “Wait. Were _you_ the Jonathan she dated in uni?”

The Jonathan that loved documentaries, even if they put Georgie to sleep, but couldn’t sit through a pop culture movie to save his life. The Jonathan that always remembered her favorite color, or band, or flower, or how she liked her tea, but could never seem to remember dates or anniversaries to a comical degree. The Jonathan that read so many books and had so few conversations that he regularly mispronounced words like ‘grandiose’ or ‘banal’.

 _That_ Jonathan.

“ _Oh_.”

Jon made a noise caught somewhere between a sigh and a scoff, and adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, looking away from Martin. “So she’s talked about me,” he grumbled. “Of course she did.”

“Oh, Jon. No, it’s, it wasn’t--” Martin stopped walking when he realized just what Jon was implying, and he frowned. Jon took a few more steps before he noticed Martin had stopped walking, and turned to face him but didn’t look at him, opting to stare at Martin’s feet instead. “She didn’t _insult_ you, Jon,” Martin said. He felt both frustrated at Jon’s assumption toward what Georgie said about him, and no small amount of heartbreak that Jon didn’t seem at all surprised that she might _actually_ have insulted him. “You know she’s not like that.”

Because even if Martin couldn’t keep in contact with her as often as he liked, he did give her updates on his job when he could. She was kind, patient, and funny. No matter the time in between messages, she was always friendly and eager to chat. He felt a little hurt that Georgie didn’t tell him it was Jon she had told him about, the mysterious Jonathan from her university days, but at the same time he understood her reasoning. No good impressions really came from her stories of him, even if he did seem like a halfway decent boyfriend.

All in all, Martin was still trying to wrap his head around everything.

Jon’s expression changed again, his eyebrows tilting in a way to make him look almost sad, and he exhaled sharply through his nose and said, with irritation clear in his voice, “Then she wasn’t being entirely truthful with you about me.”

Martin snorted. It made Jon’s expression change again, pinch into something scrutinizing and confused, and Martin cleared his throat and looked away to try and reign in the blush rising on his cheeks. “No, she was being pretty honest,” Martin said, and started walking again. Jon hesitated a step before following, taking his spot just behind Martin as they continued on.

Jon gave a questioning hum.

Martin debated for a brief moment before saying, “Unless she was lying when she told me you used to pronounce Penelope as ‘penny-lope’.”

Jon’s steps faltered, but he kept pace with Martin as they maneuvered through the midday crowd. The silence that hung between them was contemplative, somehow not awkward, so Martin let it sit there until Jon broke it first.

And he did: “If--” Jon started, and then cut himself off. Martin looked over his shoulder at him, but Jon was looking down at the sidewalk and avoiding his eye. He waited for a few moments, the word hanging in the air, before Jon, almost _softly_ , asked, “If you know about my romantic shortcomings, then why…” He cleared his throat, and did look up at Martin now, and Martin swore he saw a faint blush on his cheeks. “Then why?” he said, making it the end of his sentence instead of an unfinished question.

Martin blinked, and faced forward again.

Why indeed? There was plenty of time to cut this would-be date short, now that he knew who he was dealing with more...intimately, thanks to Georgie. But also, he was curious. Georgie told him and Melanie about this guy that was kind of an ass but had his heart in the right place, who was so terrible with communication that he was near negligent of his own wellbeing and also that of his relationship no matter what he tried-- but also about this guy that _did try_ , tried really hard for her.

 _Why did you break up with him?_ , he remembered asking her.

Georgie’s smile was soft, tinged with sadness but also fondness, when she said, _We just grew apart._

“Because a lot can change,” Martin said, instead of monologuing. “I’m willing to give this a chance if you are.”

Jon pursed his lips and looked down again, muttering to himself, but also just loud enough for Martin to hear him say, “You’re ridiculous, Martin Blackwood.”

He decided to interpret that odd tone to Jon’s voice as further irritation, just to play on the safe side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /frantically writes scene transitions so i can get to the conversations i actually want to write


	3. the awkward adventures of workplace romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the date, part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i originally wrote the date as one scene, but it was longer than my self designated chapter word limit

The front of the bookstore was almost all windows when they finally reached it, letting the warm lighting spill out into the dimming sunlight as sunset made itself known, earlier than even the day before. The vinyl lettering of the store name,  _ Reader’s World _ , was front and center on the main window, and Martin saw Jon give it a distasteful look as they approached.

“Come on,” Martin said, and nudged Jon’s shoulder with his when they paused just beside the entrance. “It won’t be  _ that _ bad.”

“We’ll see,” was all Jon said, stiff and surly, and he opened the door, motioning for Martin to enter first.

The inside of the store was pleasantly warm and smelled of vanilla, coffee and toasted bread. Martin looked back at Jon, milling about the front displays of popular new releases and award winners, and said, “Food first? Or browsing first?”

Jon looked up at Martin, his expression pinched in familiar concentration, but he also looked a little overwhelmed, and the furrow to his brow deepened. He looked back down at the display in front of him and said, “Browsing first.” It had just enough of an upward inflection to be a question, but Martin decided not to ask about it and he nodded.

“What kind of books do you like?” he asked, and moved to stand beside Jon. He looked down at the display he was eyeballing, and saw nonfiction books lined up in chronological order, all on ancient Chinese history.

He wasn’t at all surprised when Jon said, “Nonfiction.” and Jon picked up the book farthest to the left, the earliest by the looks of it, boasting information about the history of China between the Xia to the Qin dynasties. He hummed as he read the back of the book, then picked up the one farthest right without setting down the first. That one had a small blurb on the front about the Qing dynasty and the People’s Republic of China. Jon put that one back and held the first close, looking up at Martin. “Sorry,” he said, but Martin caught the out of place softness around Jon’s eyes, the corners crinkling like he was smiling even though his mouth remained in the same tight line as always. “We can go farther in.”

“History buff?” Martin asked, and moved around the display to start browsing the labeled shelves, moving pointedly toward the one labeled  _ History _ in white comic sans against a muted green.

“Something like that,” Jon muttered, just behind Martin.

When he said nothing else, Martin looked back at him. Jon met his eye with a slight frown, still holding the book close, and he looked away when Martin smiled at him. That made his eye catch another book, and the frown all but disappeared as he reached forward and grabbed something talking about the East India Company. He skimmed the back before adding it to the other, still held close in his other arm.

“I prefer fiction myself,” Martin said, finally, after what felt like an eternity of watching Jon get lost in the possibility of knowledge. His heart felt sore in his chest, watching the plain curiosity on Jon’s face, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. Quite the contrary. But he wasn’t ready to address that yet.

Jon hummed in response, nothing unkind in the inflection, but Martin still felt himself blush with embarrassment. “I can’t say I understand,” Jon said, and his tone was so casually conversational Martin had to do a double take. There was no bite to his voice, and it almost made Jon sound like an entirely different person. “The usual fantasy and science fiction have never caught my fancy.”

Martin was at a loss for words for a moment, but he cleared his throat and blurted out, “I like the over the top stuff. All of these larger than life stories are a good break from reality, if, if that makes sense.”

Jon hummed again, looking at Martin this time instead of browsing the shelves, and he said, “It does.”

The softness Martin heard there made his heart feel like bursting.

“So!” Martin had to turn away or risk doing his best impression of a tomato. “See anything else you like?”

Jon grabbed another book and gave it a quick once over before putting it back. “Yes,” he muttered, begrudgingly. “They seem to have a good selection, to my surprise.”

“And we’re only in the History section,” Martin pointed out, and Jon blinked owlishly up at him. He followed Martin’s finger to the sign that simply read  _ History _ , attached to the top of the bookshelf.

Jon simply went, “Oh.” and then stood on the balls of his feet to try to see the other signs.

Martin couldn’t contain the giggle that escaped him, or the one that followed Jon’s glare in response. He felt his face heat up considerably at the exasperated look in Jon’s eyes, but Jon, at the same time, didn’t seem to feel strongly enough to comment. He muttered a quiet “Excuse me” and pushed past Martin to the end of the aisle, then started right further into the store after he spotted something else that interested him.

Martin followed after, just a touch too slow, and only saw the tail of Jon’s coat disappear into the section labeled  _ Instructional _ . Jon already had a cookbook open and was leafing through it when Martin caught up to him, and was mumbling to himself.

Martin looked over Jon’s shoulder at the page he had open, and saw a detailed recipe for slow cooker veggie loaf. He flipped the page, and the next had another slow cooker recipe, this time for a stew.

A strange, almost painful fondness swelled in Martin’s lungs, and he asked Jon, “Do you do a lot of cooking?”

“I try,” Jon said, not looking up. His voice took on a clipped quality when he added, “Can’t say I have much time these days.” He closed the book and was about to put it back, when he seemed to reconsider, and he added it to his haul.

“You seem to get caught up at work a lot,” Martin said, conversationally. Jon hummed again, a downward inflection that Martin decided to interpret as a sad affirmative, and said, “Can’t say it’s a bad job, though, right?”

He looked up at Martin, an unfamiliar downturn to his lips not quite a frown, and just stared at him.

Martin’s cheeks grew warm within seconds, and then hot when all Jon did was stare. “Yes? Is-- is there something on my face?”

“You,” Jon started, then stopped himself. He frowned fully, and shook his head. “Where’s the fiction section?” he asked instead, and pushed past Martin again to the main thoroughfare of the bookstore.

“O-oh, uh, it’s--” Martin started to point, but Jon was already off in that direction. Martin kept pace with him this time, and stopped a step behind him when Jon all but froze in the middle of the aisle. “Jon?”

Jon exhaled sharply through his nose and turned to Martin, but he said nothing. Martin blinked and waited, but Jon looked away with a slight dark tint to his face before any words came out of him, and after another few seconds he asked, “Fantasy or science fiction?” He pointed up at the signs, with  _ Fantasy _ to the left and  _ Science Fiction _ to the right.

Martin decided to give this a fair bit of thought, and hummed, crossing his arms. Jon turned immediately down the aisle when Martin finally said, “Science fiction.” and Martin followed after him with a start. Jon stopped in the middle of the aisle again, looking from one side to the other, and he all but glared at the spines of the books. Martin wanted to ask what was on his mind, but he saw the way Jon lifted his shoulders in a way he had quickly come to recognize as preparation to speak.

“I don’t.” Jon made a noise that Martin could only describe to himself as a  _ growl _ , and it did weird things to his stomach. “I have no idea what any of this means,” he said, and made a jerky motion toward one side with his free hand. Then, he crossed his arms, holding the books he wanted against his chest. The shelves had genre labels on them, like  _ Hard Sci-Fi _ and  _ Steampunk _ and even simply  _ Romance _ . “I admit, I am out of my depth.”

Martin was still recovering from the weird flip his stomach did, and just shook his head. Jon gave him a scornful look, a close recreation of his usual glare, and turned this expression toward the bookshelves again.

“Honestly,” Martin said, after forcing himself to look away from Jon and the borderline adorable frustration clear on his face. He picked up a random book and skimmed the back before returning it to its place. “Me too. I don’t usually go to a bookstore and browse for something to read.”

Jon exhaled sharply and asked, no small amount of irritation in his voice, “Then why are we  _ here _ ?”

Martin looked down at him, and Jon immediately turned away, something like guilt playing across his face as he continued to glare at the spines of the  _ Science Fiction  _ section. He hunched his shoulders up to his ears and said and did nothing, waiting, and holding his breath by the sound of it.

It took a moment of concentration to reign in the hurt Martin felt at the snap, but a dawning realization took its place almost immediately; Georgie was right. Jon was awful at communication.  _ Still _ . He clearly didn’t mean to say what he said in such a way, and it was incredibly obvious because of the death grip Jon has on the books in his arms. So something about this whole thing frustrated him enough to cause this scenario-- and if Martin were in his shoes, he’d want to sink into the floor and vanish.

The thought made Martin laugh, just a little, and Jon’s gaze snapped to him with confusion and shock clear in the furrow of his eyebrows.

“Sorry,” he said, the tail end of his laughter making his voice shake. He cleared his throat and repeated, sounding more genuinely apologetic, “Sorry. We can-- go, if you want.”

Jon glared at the books again, and said nothing. At least it sounded like he was breathing again.But he didn’t move, and Martin took that hurt and the new understanding and decided to take a small gamble. So he took a step away from Jon, waiting until Jon looked at him, and nodded toward the back of the store. “We can get something to eat first, maybe? Before we leave.” He waited a second, Jon staring at him, before he added, “If, if that’s alright with you.”

Jon defrosted and closed his eyes, nodding. “Yes, I--” He pursed his lips and sighed through his nose. “I suppose that’s fair.” He looked tired when he opened his eyes again, and he followed Martin toward the back of the store, where the internal cafe was set up.

They were the only people in line, and the man behind the counter watched them and waited as they looked up at the illuminated menu, deciding on what they wanted. Martin ordered a sandwich that used a bagel instead of bread and a coffee; Jon ordered a muffin and a tea. It was only a few minutes before they had their order, and Martin sat down at the nearest table. Jon hesitated a moment before sitting down across from him.

Martin didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing and bit into his bagel sandwich, watching Jon glare down into his cup of tea with an odd expression on his face. Martin wanted to apply the words  _ baleful _ and  _ ashamed _ to it, given the rather frightening twist to Jon’s lips and the deep crease on his forehead, but the nuances of Jon’s expressions were still a mystery to him. All he knew was that Jon was upset, and though he had a few guesses as to why, nothing was certain.

Jon lifted his shoulders and opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped short and said nothing, still glaring down at his tea. Then, his shoulders sagged and he let out a long sigh, and shook his head. Some of the tension left his posture and he relaxed a little into his chair, and he opened his mouth to speak again, but still said nothing.

Martin took another bite of his sandwich and watched this. Jon still hadn’t looked up at him, so Martin let himself stare as Jon struggled internally with something and failed at speaking whatever was on his mind.

Personally, he was trying not to think about Jon snapping at him, how stupid he felt at hoping maybe this would go well, even though objectively he knew there was more going on beneath the surface, and the ceaseless teasing from Tim that lay in his future. Watching Jon was a welcome distraction.

Jon didn’t touch his tea until he managed to choke out, “I’m sorry.” Then he picked it up and took a long drink, still not looking at Martin.

Martin paused, and tilted his head.

Jon set down his cup and grimaced, spinning the cup in place. “I...am sorry,” he said again, sounding less like it was forced out of him. “I…”

Martin waited until he was certain Jon wasn’t going to continue, then he swallowed his bite of food and prompted, “For what?”

Jon exhaled through his nose and glanced up at Martin. He started spinning his cup the opposite direction. “For...snapping. That was...unfair of me, to say.”

Martin frowned at him and sat back in his seat. “You weren’t wrong, though,” he said, hearing Jon’s earlier question replay in his head.  _ Then why are we here? _

He had to consciously remind himself of the revelation he had just seconds afterward, that Jon was just awful at communication, but it did still sting. He wasn’t going to convince himself that he wasn’t allowed to be hurt by it. His therapist had put in too much work for him to forgive Jon just for the sake of simplicity.

Jon finally looked up at him, frowning deeply. “That’s beside the point,” he grumbled. Martin felt a wave of annoyance and amusement that Jon agreed with Martin that he was right, even if just by lack of a denial. “You asked me to come here,” he continued, louder. “I have no right to...complain, about the reason. I agreed.”

“You’re allowed to say a date is bad,” Martin said, latching onto what he decided was the safer part of Jon’s words. Anything else felt like too much, with too high of a risk of even more stilted and forced conversation.

“That’s not--” Jon huffed, and crossed his arms again. Martin followed the motion with his eyes, and Jon was a little red when Martin looked up at his face again. “I’m not saying the d-- that this has been  _ bad _ , Martin.”

Martin didn’t know what to say, so he just raised a brow at Jon and took a drink of his now lukewarm coffee.

Jon’s face darkened further, and a small, hysterical part of Martin’s brain assigned the word  _ cute _ to this.

“I.” Jon’s face contorted with a few emotions that mixed together too well to parse out individually. “Before I.” And again, but this time he pushed his glasses up and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself. Even in the relative quiet of the bookstore, Martin didn’t catch his words, and that made him frown. “I hope we’re not here despite your own wishes,” Jon said finally, and his voice was strained with invisible effort. 

Martin couldn’t help it. He snorted into his coffee, and then chuckled at the offended look that appeared on Jon’s face when he finally pulled his hand back from pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Jon.” He paused to take off his glasses and wipe off the coffee that splattered onto them, as he thought about the fact that he didn’t know how to go about explaining to Jon how dating was supposed to work. Jon crossed his arms again, frowning at Martin and still blushing, now with the tips of his ears taking on some of the color and--  _ oh _ . Martin let himself consciously think of that as cute. “This was  _ my  _ idea,” he said.

“I’m the only one that’s found books to buy,” Jon groused.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Martin said, unable to stop the amusement he felt from seeping into his tone. It made Jon frown again, but at least he no longer looked offended. “I have plenty of unread books at home. I don’t need to buy more.”

“Then why are we here?” Jon asked again, more of a hiss, but lacking any of the bite from the first time. 

Martin took a moment to collect himself, wrapping up all of his emotions into a package to open and examine later, and said, “Because I knew you’d like it.”

Jon’s expression cleared of all his annoyance and frustration, and all that was left was surprise. Something about that didn’t sit right in Martin’s stomach, but he had already made an effort not to think too hard about what he was feeling just then and didn’t want to start spiraling. So he continued not to think about it.

“Oh,” Jon said, so softly that Martin’s heart fluttered. “I...I see.” His brow furrowed again and he looked away, and his mouth twisted in something resembling a smile, but like he was trying to hide it.

“I’m the one that asked you out,” Martin added, and Jon looked up at him with that same contorted expression of trying not to smile. “So I wanted you to have fun.”

“I...am sorry,” Jon said, but his tone was different in a way Martin couldn’t quite name. “I was. I am. Having fun.” He cleared his throat, and sounded like himself again when he added another “I’m sorry.”

Martin made himself finish his sandwich before he let himself answer. “Do you still want to leave?” He tried not to feel hopeful, but the feeling was growing quickly and difficult to contain, to the point that he heard it in his own voice.

“I think I could do a little more browsing,” Jon said quietly, and finished his tea. He still hadn’t touched the muffin.

Martin let the words sink in while Jon stood to ask the man behind the cafe counter for a bag for his muffin.

They were still sinking in when Jon returned and deposited his muffin into a small paper bag.

And still, when Jon impatiently asked, “Well?” while shoving it into his messenger bag.

Martin stood, and mechanically gathered his trash, drinking the last of his coffee before putting it all in the nearest bin. Jon added his cup, and then started back toward the bookshelves, making a beeline for the one marked  _ Mystery _ . A quick glance back at their table revealed that Jon forgot the other three books he had picked out, and Martin scooped them up before jogging after him.


	4. the embarrassing adventures of workplace friendships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> date part 2, and Tim tries (keyword: tries) to be a good friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im really bad at responding to comments but rest assured i read every single one of them and scream about getting one okay ilu all thank you so much for reading
> 
> cw assumption of possible abuse, no details given or further expanded upon, and very brief speculation of a possible one night stand

Jon already had a book open and was reading a portion in the middle when Martin caught up with him. He blinked when Martin held out his previous selections, and took them with a mumbled “Oh, right, yes…”

“What have you got there?” Martin asked, and pointed to the one in his other hand.

Jon closed it and held up the cover to show Martin, but he didn’t recognize the title or the author. “I have the first two in this series at home,” Jon said, and added it to his growing pile.

“Do you like mysteries?” Martin asked, and then immediately felt silly for how obvious the answer was.

But Jon hummed and said, “Yes, quite. A good mystery is hard to come by.” Then, grumbling, he added, “Work is making it difficult to enjoy mystery novels anymore, however.”

Martin hummed as well. “Is that because the archives are one big mystery?”

Jon snorted and gave a brief laugh before clearing his throat. “Quite. I have my hands full with the mess Gertrude left behind.”

Martin smiled. He liked Jon’s laugh, how it was short, more of a huff or more accurately described as a chortle, and how Jon always seemed reluctant to make the noise.

And then he finally felt the full punch of realization that,  _ oh _ , Jon was on a date with him.  _ Still _ . And he felt himself grin like an idiot with the giddiness that followed that belated realization. Jon was perusing the shelves again and didn’t take note of Martin’s internal dance of joy, and Martin let himself stare, now that he was certain that, yes, Jon wanted to be here. On a  _ date. _ With _ him _ .

Jon’s expression was pinched in concentration again as he started reading in the middle of another book. He bit at the nail of his thumb and his lips formed words around the end of it but he made no sound-- Martin wondered if he was talking to himself or reading quietly, but either way it made his heart feel like it was being squeezed.

Jon added that book to the small stack in his arms as well, and grabbed another, seemingly at random, from the next shelf down. He started reading the back, making a face at what he saw there, and put it back with a quiet mumble of, “No, thank you.” It was like he forgot Martin was there, with how little attention he paid to him, but Martin felt...honored? The word didn’t quite cover every facet of the emotion bouncing around in his chest, but it was close enough. Given how deep into his work Jon could get, Martin was no stranger to how oblivious he could become to his surroundings-- but Martin had never witnessed this level of disregard from Jon about it either.

It was difficult to explain, Martin realized, even as he tried to puzzle it out to himself in his own head. Difficult to explain, but entertaining to watch.

Martin snapped back to reality and his mind ground to a halt when Jon chuckled at something he read on the back of another mystery novel and shook his head. He leaned over to look at what Jon had in his hand without thinking about the action, feeling the warmth of Jon’s shoulder against his chest, and asked “What’s so funny?” as he skimmed the blurb on the back cover.

It took a moment of silence for him to notice that Jon was frozen beside him, and Martin looked down at him in confusion. Jon’s shoulders were stiff and unmoving, and Martin quickly became aware of the fact that Jon wasn’t  _ breathing _ , either. Again. A spike of panic went through him. “Jon? What’s wrong, are, are you okay?” He put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, and froze himself when Jon flinched away from the touch, breaking all physical contact between them. 

It took another moment of silence for Martin to collect himself, and he stepped away from Jon, putting a good foot of distance between them. His mind was, thankfully, blank as he watched Jon slowly start to relax again, turning his face away so Martin couldn’t see his expression.

And another moment before Martin found his voice again, and asked, “...Jon?”

Jon sighed, and put the book back on the shelf. He gave a sidelong glance to Martin, then stared down at a random point between himself and the floor. “I seem awfully determined to ruin this,” he muttered, in lieu of an apology, but his tone was still apologetic.

Martin’s mind started up again, stuttering back to life, and he felt that same spike of panic go through him again. “Are you okay?” he asked, and heard the high pitched worry in his own voice. “What happened? Did I-- is something wrong?”

Jon shuffled his feet and didn’t look at Martin. He said something to himself, almost too quiet for Martin to hear but not quite; a soft “if only it were that simple…” in a tone Martin could only describe as  _ hurt _ .

Martin frowned. “Jon?”

Jon squared his shoulders and looked at him, and Martin was taken aback by the steel he saw in his eyes. Hard, cold, and distant. Familiar, like the first day they met, in the archives. It was so long ago.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, and something about the surety and stiffness of his voice gave the impression he practiced saying this often. His tone left no room for argument.

“O-oh. Uh.” Martin didn’t know what else to say aside from, “Okay.”

That made Jon relax again, almost fully, and he sighed and adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “Right.” He turned and started marching down the aisle, but he turned toward the front of the store once he reached the end, and then Martin was scrambling after him.

He still didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t even sure what  _ happened _ , so he couldn’t begin to apologize for it and he knew how much Jon  _ hated _ when he rambled on about being sorry, and--

“Martin.”

He managed to stop just before colliding with Jon, arching his body around him to avoid touching him. Jon was looking up at him, his lips pursed and something sharp in his eyes, not quite a glare, and he exhaled in a huff through his nose. His shoulders pulled up and he turned away, walking again at a more reasonable pace, throwing the words “Stop thinking so hard.” back at Martin, who stayed frozen in the middle of the aisle for a few more seconds. Then, he followed again, and Jon’s shoulders relaxed.

_ This is, by far, the  _ weirdest  _ date I’ve ever been on _ , Martin thought to himself.

It was colder when they stepped outside again, and Jon pulled his coat closed and zipped it up, half hiding his face beneath the stiff collar. Martin felt too numb to properly register the temperature, but he decided to zip up his coat anyway, focusing more on watching Jon.

Who was very obviously avoiding looking at him. The tips of his ears were red again, but Martin wasn’t sure if it was because he was embarrassed or because of the cold.

“This was…” Jon’s eyes narrowed, and though his mouth was covered, Martin was absolutely certain he was frowning. “...pleasant,” he finally finished, and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

He looked at Martin after a few seconds, and Martin realized he was probably supposed to respond to that.

“O-oh.” How eloquent. “Uh, yeah. All, all things considered, yeah, it was.” He tried a smile, and from the way Jon immediately averted his gaze, guessed that he failed.

Jon’s shoulders gathered up again, so Martin waited for him to get out whatever words were gathering before trying to muddle his way through more conversation. “I...” ...And that was it, from the way his shoulders sagged and he shook his head. Jon squinted at the middle distance between himself and Martin, and Martin heard a grumble from behind Jon’s coat collar but couldn’t make out the words.

They stood in silence for a few awkward seconds, before Martin’s nerves were begging for mercy and he blurted out, “See you Monday.”

Jon let out a long sigh and repeated, “See you Monday.” before turning and walking away.

Martin got the niggling feeling in the back of his head that that wasn’t quite what Jon was hoping for.

* * *

Tim was at work  _ early _ , which set off warning bells in Martin’s head before Tim could even spot him. Then the cheeky grin and curious glint in his eyes made those alarm bells change to sirens, but Martin wasn’t a quick enough thinker that early in the morning to come up with an excuse not to sit down at his own desk, where Tim was waiting.

“ _ So _ ?” Tim leaned against Martin’s desk, and he gave a dazzling grin that made Martin groan. “How was the date?”

“Fine,” Martin grumbled, and shouldered Tim out of the way. He scoffed, then chuckled, as Martin emptied his bag onto his desk, scattering paper and folders everywhere.

“That bad, huh?”

Martin paused, furrowed his brow, and looked at Tim.

Tim, to his credit, looked confused.

“It was fine,” Martin said again, then started reorganizing his notes because wow Martin, way to make your life harder by just  _ dumping your bag out onto your desk _ .

Tim hummed. “So...good and bad, then.” He tilted his head back and forth, chewing on his lower lip. “I’m going to guess…” He hummed again. “Jon was cute, but not much one for conversation.”

Martin scoffed and shoved Tim’s chair away with his foot. Tim rolled pathetically away with a pout on his face.

“Rude.”

“ _ I’m _ not the one speculating on how a date went,” Martin responded, and moved his empty bag to the floor so he had actual desk space to start working.

“So give me the  _ deets _ .” Tim shimmied his chair back over to Martin’s desk, ignoring the loud, pained groan Martin gave at his choice of words. “Spare yourself the embarrassment of me waxing poetry about Jon’s eyes and--”

“Alright!” Martin threw his hands up, and then covered his face with them, feeling the blush rise on his cheeks. “Just  _ shut up _ .”

Tim chuckled. Martin searched around with his foot for the base of Tim’s chair, and shoved him away again. It just made Tim laugh.

“It was…” Martin moved his hands to uncover his eyes but didn’t completely remove them from his face. Tim looked attentive and, somehow, not at all teasing despite the comical amount of focus he had trained on him. “...fun,” he mumbled, and looked away as soon as Tim broke out in another grin.

“That’s great!” He clapped Martin on the back and ignored the squawk that came out. “ _ Fantastic _ , even, given who your datemate was-- not to be rude!” He held his hands up when Martin all but glared at him. “I just know how Jon is with casual conversation.”

Martin sighed, and started picking at his nails. “Yeah…”

He had stayed up almost all night thinking about the date. And he somehow managed to key himself up enough with reexamining his own emotions that he also managed to stay up all day, even if all he did was mindlessly binge his favorite comfort movies.

Jon...didn’t like to be touched. That much was obvious. The reason why is a mystery-- Martin’s best guess was that he was simply averse to touch. His worst guess was that Jon didn’t get much physical contact that wasn’t in some way unpleasant to him. Martin didn’t like thinking about the worst case scenario with that, but his mind didn’t always listen to him and he considered the possibility of past abuse anyway. It made him cringe, and Tim blinked and tilted his head.

Jon liked reading. That much was  _ also _ obvious. He was very into history and mystery novels, when they struck his fancy, and he considered work to be some kind of a puzzle to solve-- its own mystery, in Jon’s eyes. He seemed to like reading so much that he tuned out the world around him and, if he was particularly engrossed in something, mouthed words that may or may not be what he was reading.  _ This _ made Martin smile, and Tim narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

Last, Jon was  _ god awful _ at using his words. He had managed to reign in the desire to text Georgie and ask her for more stories about ‘Jonathan from uni’, and instead thought back on the stories he already knew. Martin couldn’t see much of a difference, on the surface at least. Most of Jon’s thoughts stayed internal, aside from maybe dancing across his face like a spotlight, and barely anything came out in the form of words, let alone sentences. And, from the way Jon acted, that was as frustrating to him as it was to anyone he was trying to talk to. Which was, in its own way, cute.

“So when’s the next date?” Tim asked, after Martin couldn’t contain a brief giggle at his internal monologue. He made a face when Martin flushed and looked away, saying nothing. “You  _ did _ plan a second date, didn’t you?”

Martin’s voice was high pitched and choked when he managed to get out, “ _ Well _ …”

“Martin Blackwood.” Tim crossed his arms and frowned. “Are you honestly telling me you  _ didn’t _ ask him out on a second date? After this one apparently went well?” This time, he was the one to shove Martin’s chair with his foot, and Martin let himself roll a few feet away, too embarrassed to even cover his face again. “ _ Why _ ?”

“I--” Martin made a noise like a whine. “I don’t know! I just didn’t!”

He recalled the lingering sting of Jon snapping at him, and the awkwardness of the empty silence between them.

\--but also the way Jon was trying not to smile, or when he chuckled at something he read, or how he avoided as much eye contact as possible unless he had a point to make, verbal or otherwise.

And how, in his own awkward, stilted, kind of prickly way, he tried comforting Martin after Martin did something that upset him.

Jon was an enigma wrapped in a mystery. Martin couldn’t say with any confidence that this whole ordeal put him off any more than Jon’s usual icy demeanor.

He almost admitted to himself that this made him  _ more _ interested-- but he was too embarrassed to own up to that just yet.

\-- _ was that why Jon seemed disappointed at the end _ ? Because Martin didn’t ask--

“Earth to Martin!” Tim waved his hand in front of Martin’s face, and crossed his arms again once he got Martin’s attention. “Ask him out! Again!”

A loud groan from the doorway caught both of them by surprise, and they jumped. Sasha removed her sunglasses and squinted at them, taking a long drink of whatever it was she had in her purple floral thermos, and said, “It’s too early for you two to be so loud.” Then, she squinted more at Tim, and asked, “What are you doing here so early?”

“I’m on time!” Tim threw his arms into the air. “Is that really so surprising?”

“Yes,” Martin and Sasha said at the same time, and Sasha giggled.

She walked over to her desk and plopped down into her chair. “So how was the date?” she asked Martin, and rolled her eyes at the triumphant cheer Tim gave in response. She didn’t comment on the blush coloring Martin’s cheeks, or his silence for that matter, and instead said, “Good to know Jon isn’t a complete shut-in.”

“Martin didn’t ask him on a second date,” Tim said, and wheeled away from Martin when he swatted at him. “Side with me! He should!”

“You should,” Sasha agreed, and held her hands up in a placating gesture at the wounded noise Martin made in her direction. “You should! If you had fun, there’s no reason not to ask for another date. That’s how dating  _ works _ .”

“Unless you slept together,” Tim added, and ducked to avoid the paperweight Martin threw in his general direction. “I’m serious! I wouldn’t put it past Jon to be a ‘one night stand’ kind of guy. He has a vibe.”

“It’d be a bit awkward, since they work together,” Sasha told him, and shook her head at the contemplative look that washed over Tim. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Can we just work now?” Martin asked weakly.

“Yes--” Jon said from the doorway, and frowned when all of them let out a shout of surprise. “Stop wasting time. You all have work to do.”

“Right away, boss.” Tim was the first to recover, and gave Jon a mock salute that made the frown deepen and a glare fall into place, which Tim pointedly ignored as he rolled back over to his own desk. Sasha just started working without another word.

Jon looked at Martin, who was staring, and something in his expression changed for a split second before he looked away and stalked into his office. Martin continued staring, even after Jon’s office door closed.

“Ask him out,” Tim muttered from his desk, not looking up.

Martin sighed, and got to work.


	5. words of affirmation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: do something new with jmart!  
> also me: uses the same s1 timeframe for basically all of my fics kasjnflkejsn
> 
> cw mentions of bullying and negative associations with the word queer

Jon, to no one’s surprise, had all but locked himself in his office, as was per usual. What was unusual was how he seemed to emerge twice as much as he normally did, after the first two hours of the day. Like some kind of archive ghost, skirting along the walls of the rooms whenever he came out into the living world. He was more skittish than usual, and twice as quick to snap or snark at something.

Tim insisted it was because of Martin. Sasha, after the third time Jon came out of his office that same hour, begrudgingly agreed with him.

Martin didn’t have it in him to disagree with them, not after the fifth time that day. Jon lingered wordlessly at the breakroom doorway, watching the three of them work, until Tim commented that Jon was being creepier than usual and he scurried away.

“Something is different,” Sasha commented, in a tone of voice that made Martin think he knew exactly what she was going to say next.

“Yeah, Jon wanted a second date,” Tim said, which-- same thing, different person; Martin was still right.

Martin sighed. “Fine, I’ll ask him, but not during work. Not again.” He felt his face heat up and he frowned at the paper in his hands, unable to focus on the words written there. “That was mortifying.”

“Fair enough.” Tim chuckled. “Do try to make it today, though.” He stopped when Jon reentered the room, holding a hot cup of, presumably, tea. Jon hesitated for a moment in the doorway again, then all but ran back to his office and practically slammed the door shut behind him. “I don’t think I can handle any more of this.”

Sasha tried very hard to pretend her laughter was a coughing fit, and failed.

It was around noon that Jon called Martin into his office for something. Martin decided it was as good a time as any to give Jon his field research for the case he was assigned, and gathered that up while Tim not-so-subtly muttered “Ask him out!” in his general direction. Which he ignored. Because that was happening _after_ work, not _during_ . He had decided, and was trying very, very, _very_ hard not to back out of that decision.

He knocked twice before entering Jon’s office, and paused in the doorway at what he saw.

Which was Jon, frozen, looking at Martin. One hand looked like it was in the middle of doing something on his laptop’s trackpad before it stopped moving, and the other had his cup from earlier half tilted at his mouth. Jon’s heavy breathing echoed from inside the cup and seemed even louder.

Martin frowned, but didn’t know what to say.

It took another few seconds for Jon to snap out of it, and he cleared his throat and lowered his cup with a distinct blush coloring his face. “Martin,” he said, sounding like a greeting. Martin didn’t feel like reminding him that he had called him. Jon nodded to the seat in front of his desk, and waited until Martin was sitting down to ask, “So what do you have for me?”

Martin felt his heart squeeze at the hopeful note in Jon’s voice, and held out his notes. Jon took them eagerly and started looking them over, with a forced edge to his usual pinched expression of concentration that Martin noticed immediately.

He wanted to strangle Tim for being right all the time.

“Nothing much to follow up on, I’m afraid,” Martin said, after letting Jon read it for himself for a few seconds. “There were about…” He hummed. “Over a hundred women over fifty named Angela in Bexley, but I don’t think I ever met the Angela from that statement.”

Jon hummed, the forced edge fading to pure annoyance, and he sighed.

“I…” Martin didn’t know if Jon was going to think he was joking or not, but he said, “I had a few pleasant chats about jigsaws, if that helps? P-probably not…?” He immediately looked down at his knees, because the look Jon was giving him was sour enough to curdle milk. He cleared his throat out of nervousness, and Jon exhaled in something not quite a sigh.

“Right.” He set down Martin’s summary, and only then did Martin notice the old tape recorder sitting on the corner of Jon’s desk. “You can go now, Martin.”

Martin stood and turned to leave, but stopped, then turned back to Jon. Jon didn’t immediately notice this, and was glaring down at his laptop for another moment before blinking up at Martin, and frowning. “What?” He sounded irritated, which was normal, but his expression was more open than he was used to, and the words died in Martin’s throat.

“What’s with the tape recorder?” he said instead, and mentally kicked himself for it. He just hoped this meant he wasn’t going to back out of asking Jon out again _after_ work. He decided to ask Tim to make sure he did it, and then immediately rescinded that idea for just how stupid it was, even for him. Tim was exactly the type of person to physically carry him to Jon to make sure it happened, and the mental image alone was mortifying.

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “My laptop is acting up,” he said, gruff, and nodded down to it. “It was what I had on hand.”

Martin was still at a loss for something _important_ or _smart_ to say, so he just shrugged and left Jon’s office.

He felt like an idiot.

Tim patted his back in comfort after he plopped down into his chair and heaved a sigh. “There, there.” He rubbed small circles into the spot between his shoulder blades, and it was weirdly intimate but still definitely comforting. “There’s only five hours left before work’s over. Then you and Jon can get this stick out of both of your--”

“Tim!” Sasha was glaring at him from her own spot, and Tim shrugged but let it drop. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I just hope he stops _looming_ ,” she muttered. “It’s distracting.”

“It’s adorable,” Tim said, and Martin couldn’t tell if he was being serious.

Martin managed to work in relative silence and with shaky concentration for another twenty minutes before he heaved a sigh and gave up.

Tim turned around at the same time Martin did, and he smiled. “Want to grab lunch?”

Martin blinked. “Oh, uh. Sure?”

“Sweet.” Tim scribbled something onto the notepad on his desk and stood. “It’s my treat. I want to talk anyway.”

Martin groaned. Tim chuckled.

“Oh come on, it’s nothing _bad_ , I promise.”

“Don’t trust him,” Sasha said, not looking up. Tim shot a wounded look her direction.

“It’s not like I’m getting any work done anyway,” Martin grumbled, and grabbed his coat at the same time Tim grabbed his own. “Where are we going?”

“Just around the corner.” Tim grinned. “A nice little cafe. Not somewhere I imagine we’ll see Jon show his ugly face-- I’m _kidding_!” He held his hands up in a placating gesture, but he laughed as well as Martin glared at him.

“You should really stop doing that,” Martin grumbled, and followed Tim out of the archives. He waved back at Sasha when she bid them farewell and asked for a plain black coffee on their way back.

“I’m not as fond of Jon as you are,” Tim responded, once they were on the ground floor of the institute. “I reserve the right to mock and ridicule him.”

Martin sighed, and felt it from the top of his head to his toes. “ _Why_?”

Tim shrugged. “Clashing personalities?”

“That’s a terrible reason.”

Tim shrugged again.

They walked in silence until the door into the main hall closed behind them, and Tim inhaled the chilly air and stretched his arms into the air, groaning. “Finally, freedom!”

“It’s only lunch,” Martin grumbled.

Tim gave him a look. “Okay, what’s got you so out of sorts?”

“I’m _not_.”

“ _Sure_.” Tim scoffed. “Because the Martin Blackwood I’ve come to know and love is snippy and short tempered.”

Martin felt his face start to heat up, and he decided not to address Tim’s choice of words. “I’m _not_ being snippy,” he groused.

“Sure, and I’m a hard working archival assistant,” Tim said, his voice laced with sarcasm and good humor. It made Martin smile a little, and Tim elbowed his shoulder. “There he is!”

“Shut up.” Martin shoved him. Tim barely budged. “What do you want to talk about, anyway?”

“I wanted to ask you a pretty important question,” Tim said, and didn’t say anything else for long enough that Martin felt anxiety begin pooling in his stomach. “Not that you have to answer if you don’t want to.”

That just made it worse. “Tim--”

“Why do you like Jon?” he asked, and turned open, curious eyes on him. Martin couldn’t find a single hint of teasing or mocking, but he still felt the anxiety crest in his stomach and felt himself blush.

“W-why do you want to know?”

Tim shrugged, and held the door open for Martin when they reached the cafe. It was barely a five minute walk from the institute, and Martin distantly wondered why he hadn’t known about this place sooner. He pulled Martin in line immediately, which was already five people long not counting the person being served at the counter, and four more people filed in behind them.

“I’ve found myself with a sudden interest in seeing you actually woo Jonathan Sims,” Tim said, his voice low. It was hard to hear him over the din of the cafe, so Martin leaned in closer. “Don’t ask me why beyond that, I’m still trying to figure it out myself.”

“...that’s sort of...sweet?” Martin laughed a little, and Tim smiled at him. “If also pretty weird.”

“I can’t deny that.” Tim’s smile briefly became a grin. “It’s not like I’ve never seen Jon act like a decent human being, you know. I just want to know why _you_ , of all people, ended up developing a crush on the guy.”

Martin huffed, and shuffled forward with Tim when the line moved. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Well.” Tim’s cheeks became a little pink. “I can’t say I never considered asking _you_ out, at one point,” he said, and Martin tried very hard not to shriek and ended up coughing instead. “You’re…” He made an expression like a pout, but contemplative. “You’re a good guy, Martin. Sweet. Patient. Ridiculously patient, if you ask me. And kind.”

Martin’s face felt like it was on fire.

Tim continued, “And Jon is, well, _Jon_ . Snippy, stubborn, the dictionary definition of the word _peevish_ \--” Martin snorted, and Tim chuckled. “--and he’s so... _rude_. He has _terrible_ people skills.”

“Yeah,” Martin responded, and choked when he heard the fond note in his own voice. Tim just raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s, it’s complicated. And a long story,” he squeaked out.

“We have forty minutes,” Tim said, and shuffled forward again with the line.

Martin groaned. “ _Fine_ , I know you’re not going to let this drop easily, so fine.”

“Hey, I prefaced this by saying we didn’t have to talk about this if you didn’t want to.” Tim pouted at him.

Martin pouted back at him, and that made Tim giggle.

The line shuffled forward again, and Martin sighed. “Okay, I guess.” He looked up at the menu as they got closer. “I’d prefer we wait until we were sitting down, though.”

“Sure, fair.” Tim hummed. “Their cinnamon buns are phenomenal, by the way,” he added.

Martin chuckled. “Noted.”

“I can help who’s next!” someone called, and Tim grabbed Martin’s arm and pulled them forward to the counter. They rattled off what they wanted and Tim gave his name for the order, then herded Martin off to the side to the only empty table located just beside the hallway to the bathrooms.

“Well, can’t say I like the location,” Tim muttered, but took a seat.

Martin shrugged. “So,” he said, and watched Tim take off his jacket and drape it over the back of his chair. “Where do I start?”

“Wherever you want to, Martin.” Tim leaned forward and rested his elbow on the table, then his chin in the palm of his hand. “I’m all ears, and _dying_ of curiosity.”

Martin felt himself blush again, and sighed. “So...I suppose…” He frowned, and stared down at his hands, spread out on the table’s surface. Tim shifted in his seat but said nothing, so after a few more seconds Martin continued, “I first heard about Jon before I even joined the institute. I used to do, well, research, for a few...podcasts. But I needed more money, so I started...applying basically anywhere.” He sighed again.

“So far, so simple,” Tim commented. “On the surface, at least. Sounds like something with your mom, yeah? That’s why you needed better income?”

He had forgotten he’d told Tim and Sasha about his mother. It warmed him to realize he didn’t need to give every little detail to fill out the picture, and he nodded. “Yeah…”

“Alright. Sounds…” Tim’s hand inched into Martin’s line of sight, and he gently bumped the tips of their fingers together. “...rough,” he said at last. “Go on.”

Martin smiled a little. “Well, the main podcast I did research for was What the Ghost,” he said, and heard Tim’s noise of affirmation. “Georgie Barker apparently dated Jon when they were both in university--” He paused when Tim gave a rather loud snort, then muttered an apology. “--and I heard stories about him from her. This...isn’t as important,” he added. “It’s just something I realized recently that makes this all a little more complicated.”

“I bet.” Tim chuckled. “Suddenly finding out your boss was your old boss’ ex? Complicated indeed.”

“ _Anyway_.” Martin cleared his throat. “I started out in the library, and met Jon a few times, sort of. We didn’t really _chat_ , we just…” He made a vague motion with his hands. “Bumped into each other? It’s, it’s a bit difficult to explain.” He waved that away, and sighed again. “But I think that’s when it started. We just sort of...encountered each other quite a bit.”

“Aw, no meet cute?” Tim smiled a little when Martin frowned at him. “I mean that as genuinely as I possibly can while still also teasing you.”

“Why are you like this?” Martin asked.

Tim laughed, and Martin smiled a little himself. “Good question! But that’s not why we’re here. Go on with your story.” He made a motion like he was shooing Martin along.

Martin rolled his eyes. “So, I guess it all started with, well, when I was brought onto the team for the archives. I already knew of Jon by that point, and you and Sasha, but this was, well, different. Jon wasn’t just a researcher anymore, he was the head archivist. I couldn’t, just, I couldn’t just talk to him anymore, and he didn’t seem to remember me anyway, so--”

“Alright, you’re really not selling me on him,” Tim commented, as he got up after his name was called. He returned with two paper plates of cinnamon buns with plastic forks, two sandwiches of varying innards, and a takeaway cup of black coffee for Sasha, which they both knew would be cold by the time they got back to the institute. But they also knew Sasha was a monster that drank cold coffee.

“Just!” Martin stabbed the bun with his fork. “Let me finish, _then_ berate me.”

“I’m not going to _berate_ you, Martin.” Tim scoffed. “I’m not here to make you feel _bad_ about liking Jon, even if I’m doing a shoddy job at showing it. I do honestly want to know _why_ you like him.”

“Well.” Martins stabbed the bun again. “It’s...because he’s so…” He sighed. “Do you want the stupid explanation or the long explanation?”

“If by stupid you mean romantic and poetic, then that one.” Tim took a drink of Sasha’s coffee without thinking about it, and made a disgusted face. “Right. Not mine.”

Martin chuckled, and enjoyed the cinnamon bun as it all but melted in his mouth. “You’re right, this is amazing.”

“See! I’m good for something.” Tim grinned. He allowed Martin a brief respite from his interrogation to eat more of the bun, then said, “Alright, go on.”

Martin cringed. “Promise not to laugh?”

“Martin.” Tim gave him a look, firm but open. “I’m. Not. Going. To. Make. Fun. Of. You.”

“It’s just hard to, to believe, is all!” Martin threw his hands into the air, then felt embarrassed as a few people looked over, confused. “I’m _sorry_.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “The only way I can show I’m being serious is by not making fun of you about this, so just _tell me_. There’s no way I’m winning a verbal argument about it, anyway.”

“Fine!” Martin groaned. “It’s because he always seemed so focused and dedicated to his work, alright? He’s so persistent about his research and following leads and making sure everything is organized in an intuitive way, and I know that the archives have been stressing him out because it’s all so _chaotic_ , so he’s been in a foul mood since he became the head archivist, which doesn’t help--”

“Foul mood is a bit of an understatement,” Tim muttered, then held his hands up and shook his head. “Sorry, continue.”

“But also, just, when people come in to give statements? He’s like, a completely different person. I know you’ve seen him, Tim.”

Tim made a noise that wasn’t quite a hum. “I do admit, he can be...compassionate,” he said, begrudgingly. “If a little short with people.”

“He can look so _soft_ ,” Martin said, half pleading. “So _open_. It’s ridiculous that he’s usually so, so snippy! But the instant he thinks someone is genuinely distressed, he becomes, like, a _dad_ , or-or something.”

Tim mumbled something, and snickered to himself. Martin narrowed his eyes at him, and he said, “I’m not going to repeat it. It wasn’t important, just a stupid joke. Go on.”

Martin sighed. “That’s it, really.” He took another bite of his cooling cinnamon bun. “I bet it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“Oh, no, it makes _total_ sense,” Tim said, and looked offended when Martin looked surprised. “Give yourself a little credit, Martin! And me, give _me_ a little credit!”

Martin mumbled an apology. Tim rolled his eyes.

“You ended up with a crush on him because of how much effort he put into what he was focused on, so I bet that also translates to a person. He’s snippy and rude, sure, but he can be calm and understanding when it matters, and that takes some control, or at least a heart not made of coal.” Tim waited for Martin to give him some kind of confirmation, which took a few long moments. Martin nodded slightly, feeling himself turning red again with embarrassment and a pleasant warmth of being understood, finally. “That’s not weird or anything, Martin. That all sounds pretty normal.”

“Normal,” Martin repeated. He recalled times when he was younger of being teased for liking another boy. Hearing Tim call this normal was...odd. But pleasant. A relief, almost. It must have shown on his face, because Tim made an odd noise in the back of his throat.

“Don’t let Sasha see that sorrowful look on your face, or she’ll build a time machine just to let your younger self know there’s nothing wrong with you.” Tim heaved a sigh. “God knows we queer folk need to--” Martin knew he flinched, and he felt terrible for the awkward pause. But then Tim said, “Alright, not that. Noted. Sorry.”

Martin swallowed the lump in his throat. “This has been--” he paused to bark a laugh, sounding strained and a little panicky. “--the weirdest week of my life so far.”

“Well, Sasha already said we’re going to be friends and check in on each other,” Tim said, just short of a mumble. “It’s a bit awkward that we seem to be doing a speedrun through the different levels of friendship lately, yeah, but I can’t say I dislike it.”

“Yeah.” Martin smiled a little. “I can’t say I dislike it,” he repeated.

He shared that smile with Tim, more of that earlier relief and warmth taking over the anxiety that was rolling around in his stomach like a stone. Then, Tim stood, and stretched with a groan.

“We should start back,” he said, and went off to get takeaway containers for their untouched sandwiches.


	6. cheesy office romcoms and mutual pining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /updates at some ungodly hour of the morning because im SLEEPY and want to GO TO BED

Martin checked his watch. “Yeah, probably,” he said, when Tim returned. He gathered the paper plates and forks and tossed them in the trash as they walked out, laughing as Tim took another mindless drink of Sasha’s black coffee.

“Sasha is a monster,” Tim commented, cringing and making a noise of disgust. “Black coffee, and she doesn’t even care if it’s cold.”

“Everyone has their preferences?” Martin laughed, then laughed more at the look Tim gave him. He took the container with his sandwich, and then started walking.

“Was that a _joke_? Like, an actual, honest to god joke?”

“I do that sometimes, yes.”

Tim barked a laugh. “Maybe Jon _is_ perfect for you. You two have the same sense of humor--” He looked at Martin quizzically after Martin made a choked sound, and raised a brow. “Oh come on, it’s not a surprise. His humor is dry enough to use as kindling, and he likes puns which makes me hate him on principle--”

“What’s wrong with puns?” Martin asked, slightly offended, but Tim continued on as if Martin hadn’t spoken.

“--but you two laugh at, like, the exact same things. Or, well.” Tim scrunched his nose. “If Jon _laughed_. He just makes this weird--” and Tim did a near perfect recreation of the huffy chortle Jon breaks out when something amuses him but he seems annoyed about it.

Martin started laughing in response. “That was _uncanny_!”

“Thanks.” Tim grinned. “I mock him often.”

Martin broke down into snorts and gasps, laughing too hard to make noise, and Tim patted his back like he was trying to help Martin stop choking.

Tim helped open the front door to the institute and waved at Rosie as they passed her by. He stopped immediately when Rosie piped up with, “Sasha left a message for you two, for when you got back.”

“Oh?”

Rosie looked like she was trying not to smile, and she cleared her throat. In a flat, near deadpan tone, she read, “Help me, please, oh god, I can’t take this anymore.”

“Uh…” Tim looked at Martin, and Martin shrugged but felt new anxiety make a home in his gut. “Did she sound...okay?”

Rosie started giggling, and waved them off. “She’s fine, really. It sounded like Jonathan was giving her a hard time about something when she called.”

“Well, let’s go save her.” Tim nodded to the door marked ARCHIVES, and waved at Rosie as they walked away.

Martin said nothing on the trek down the stairs. He refused to let himself get too anxious over the situation, given that Rosie said it was just Jon torturing Sasha, and he looked to have as much muscle as a twig--

The thought made him snort, and Tim looked at him. “What are you snickering about?”

“Nothing important,” Martin said, and couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped. Before he could consider possible ramifications for it, he added, “Just trying to make myself not spiral into an anxiety attack.”

“Oh.” Tim nudged his shoulder. His expression was carefully neutral. “You’re okay, though?”

“Yeah.” Martin opened the door to the archive and let Tim enter first. “I’m--”

A loud, long, muffled groan cut him off, and he and Tim froze in the doorway. Sasha had her face plastered against her desk, and the noise was coming from her, but it didn’t seem to be directed at them, exactly. Tim hesitated a moment, looked at Martin, then walked over and set the cold coffee down next to her head. “Uh, Sasha?”

“ _Please_ ,” she begged her desk, and pulled her arms out from underneath it to fold her hands over her head. “Please, never leave me alone with Jon ever again.”

Martin closed the door behind him, but didn’t move farther into the archives. “What happened?” he asked, and then immediately regretted it as Sasha groaned into her desk again, trailing off into an exaggerated noise not unlike sobbing. Or laughing. Martin guessed laughing, from the way her shoulders were shaking.

"Please, for the love of all that is _holy_.” She sat up and looked Martin dead in the eye, her gaze so intense it made him squirm and look away after just a second. “ _Ask him on a second date_.”

Tim pulled his chair over, and sat down beside her. He rubbed her shoulders in gentle circles, and just grinned at Sasha when she glared at him. “So,” he said, in a singsong, playful tone. “What happened?”

“I never thought I’d be the poor victim to give my **boss** _dating advice_ ,” Sasha hissed at him, and Tim laughed and rolled away as she started swatting at him halfheartedly.

“W-what?” Martin heard his own voice as just a squeak.

Sasha inhaled deeply through her nose, held it for a few seconds, then exhaled through her mouth. She pointed at Martin with the tips of her fingers, her hands folded together like a prayer. “You’re too charming for her own good,” she said, sounding both offended and like she was accusing him of some crime.

Martin pointed numbly at himself, and jumped when Sasha practically yelled, “Yes! You, Martin Blackwood!”

Tim was still laughing, and shook his head. “These walls aren’t soundproof,” he commented. “He can hear you.”

“He’s not in his office,” Sasha said, and held her folded hands to her face, touching her fingers to her forehead.

Tim scoffed. “No.”

Sasha glared at him again. “Yes! He left! Well.” She made a face, something of a mix between amusement, confusion and an honest attempt not to smile. “He fled, I should say.”

“ _F_ _led_.” Tim scoffed again.

Sasha pointed at Martin without looking at him, and he made a noise too close to a yelp for his own comfort. “If you thought _Martin_ had it bad,” she started, and nodded as Tim started laughing now. “Jon is _way worse_.”

“I don’t believe you.” Tim crossed his arms, but he was smiling and open and having a good time. Martin wanted to strangle him for enjoying this situation while he felt such a gaping pit of embarrassment and disbelief open up inside of himself.

“I should have recorded the conversation,” Sasha said, mostly to herself, and lightly tapped her knuckle against her temple. “Duh. There’s no way I can tell you what we talked about and have you believe me, it was just _too surreal_.”

“I’m all ears anyway?” Tim shrugged, and grinned at Sasha’s pain sigh.

Martin had all but shut down at this point. Sasha’s words, _Jon is way worse_ , bounced around in his skull like a rubber ball thrown at high speed, leaving behind more emotions than Martin could reasonably deal with on such short notice. Confusion, fear, embarrassment, amusement, more fear, painful fondness, fragile hope, _more fear_ , and a large helping of disbelief.

“Martin.” He jumped, yanked back to reality by Sasha calling his name, and he saw her pointing at his chair, which she had pulled up beside her. He blinked and walked over, hesitated a moment, then took his seat.

In his head rang a litany of _way worse, way worse, way worse_.

“I think you broke him,” Tim said, and nudged Martin’s shoulder.

Sasha sighed. “I’m not about to take part in some cheesy office romcom. I want all this mutual pining out of the way _now_ before I have a heart attack from the stress of watching them.” She shoved Tim when he started laughing, and he spun in place. “Martin.”

He jumped again.

Sasha sighed again.

“Ask him on a second date _before_ the end of the work day.” She paused, and chewed on her bottom lip. “If he comes back. He might not come back.”

“Sasha, please tell me you scared our boss out of his own office.” Tim didn’t bother spinning around to face them, and tilted his head as far back as he could instead, looking at them upside down. “Please. It’d make my whole week.”

“I.” Sasha’s face colored, and she crossed her arms. “I _may have_ yelled at him. A little.”

Tim started clapping.

Martin shook his head, still too numb to form words.

“He was just being so frustrating!” She threw her arms into the air and let out another loud groan. “So frustrating!” she repeated. “He puts up such a good front of being all snarky and rude and _I don’t care about other people_ ,” she said, lowering her voice in a pitiful copy of Jon’s voice, not even bothering to match his cadence. “But the man honestly--” And then she cut herself short, and sat rigid in her chair.

“Sasha?” Tim turned his chair around to look at her properly.

Sasha looked at him, then looked at Martin, her eyes wide. Then, she closed them, cleared her throat, and said, “I’m just now realizing something that was honestly _super_ obvious, and I feel silly.”

“Okay?” Tim drew out the word, still confused.

“I’m not going to say any more,” she said, and held up a hand when Tim started to complain. “I’m not. I had an epiphany.”

“Sure.” Tim rolled his eyes. “You just don’t want to spill all Jon’s secrets,” he said, teasing and as a joke, but Sasha shot him a glare that made him pause. “Wait, did he, like…” He sat forward, his arms on his knees. “Did he honestly tell you about himself just to ask for advice? Really?”

“It didn’t seem easy for him,” Sasha said quietly. “But yes.”

“ _Wow_.”

Martin sat back in his chair, and stared up at the ceiling. “This is the _weirdest_ week of my life,” he said, repeating his earlier sentiment. And it was only Monday. He was starting to feel cold on top of numb, and like he was an observer to his own body.

A hand patted his knee, but he didn’t react to it.

“Speedrun,” Tim muttered, and snickered at the confused noise Sasha made. “Not just for us, it seems.”

“Why can’t we just be a normal office?” Martin asked the ceiling. He heard Tim and Sasha make noises in between groans and affirmations.

Jon didn’t come back.

Sasha was drooping in her chair from the first five minutes after lunch, and every thirty minutes after that seemed to add to the weight on her shoulders. Tim tried and failed to cheer her up, and tried to rope Martin into helping, but.

Martin was still trying to come to terms with the idea that, _maybe_ , Jon liked him back. It was a daydream come true-- well, multiple daydreams. A _lot_ of daydreams, if he was being honest. It was too much to even hope for, and he heard the disappointed voice of his therapist in his head (“You’re allowed to have good things, Martin.”) as he decided to take the safe route out of this circle of thoughts and decided, hey. Jon was probably just asking Sasha for advice on how to let Martin down easy. It’s not like he knew what Jon asked her, anyway. She closed up like a clam after her self proclaimed epiphany, and adamantly refused to say anything else on the matter-- even if just bringing it up made her groan with frustration again at her earlier ordeal.

He felt the beginnings of another thought, _since when as Jon been one to let people down easy?_ , and squashed it before it could make his heart quiver with more hope than it already held. Which was considerably more than he was comfortable with on a good day, and this hadn’t been what Martin would call a _good day_. It took him two hours just to stop dissociating from the shock of hearing about Jon’s maybe-probably-hopefully ( _not_ , get it _together_ , Martin) reciprocated feelings!

“So,” Tim said, after a painfully quiet few hours. It was approaching the end of the day, and by the looks of it Sasha didn’t get any work done either, from the way she was practically lying against her desk. “I went into Jon’s office--”

“You know he doesn’t like us doing that,” Sasha said, sounding distant and tired.

Tim shrugged. “I just had to check. For all we knew he was actually hiding in the closet.”

Sasha snorted. “And?”

“He wasn’t.” Tim waved a few folders in the air. “I did find this stack of statements for us, though. I guess Jon was going to give us more work before Sasha scared him out of the archives--”

“I said I was sorry!” Sasha wailed, and almost curled into a ball in her chair. She settled for covering her face with her hands and making sorrowful noises while Tim patted the top of her head.

“I hope he’s alright,” Martin muttered. He wasn’t entirely aware he had spoken the words out loud until Tim and Sasha looked over to him with varying degrees of pity.

“Alright, it’s time for Martin to go home.” Tim divided the stack into three piles and tossed them onto everyone’s desks, then walked over to Martin and held his arms out. “Come on.”

Martin blinked up at him. “...what?”

“Don’t make me pick you up,” Tim said as a reply. 

Martin blinked again. “Uh…” He stood, and after a moment of hesitation, hugged Tim. Tim laughed and squeezed him.

“Not _quite_ what I was going for,” he said, loud in Martin’s ear. “But alright. Come on, let’s get you home.”

“I’m fine,” Martin muttered, not letting go of Tim. The physical contact was a balm after a long day of ups and downs-- mostly downs, if Martin was honest with himself. By no fault of anyone but his own fluctuating moods. He was nuzzling Tim’s shoulder when Sasha made an odd noise.

“You two are adorable,” she commented.

Tim shrugged, and that was what made Martin let go. He started to pull away, but Tim maintained a point of contact with his hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Feeling better?” he asked, his voice sounding soft and affectionate enough that Martin blushed.

“You two are _adorable_ ,” Sasha repeated.

“Yeah.” Martin looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

“Hey, you know me. I’m a huggy guy.” Tim grinned. “I’m always down for hugs.”

“You’re more than just ‘huggy’, Tim.” Sasha shook her head, but she was smiling. “You’re like a puppy. You’re so tactile.”

“It’s one of my perks.” Tim gave a dazzling grin, then turned to Martin again. “Can you make it home on your own?”

“Oh, uh.” Martin did a quick assessment of his current state of mind and overall well being-- overwhelmed, kind of spacey, but content enough not to lose his marbles on the way home by overthinking more than he already has. Tim looked pleased as punch that Martin didn’t immediately answer and instead took a moment to consider, when Martin said, “I should be fine. Thanks.”

“Hopefully Jon doesn’t start avoiding the archives,” Sasha mumbled.

Tim barked a laugh. “The man has no sense of self preservation. He’ll be back.”

“I’m not sure I like your thinking, but I can’t argue either.” Sasha heaved a sigh, but then smiled. “We should do drinks again this weekend,” she said.

“Definitely.”

Martin hummed. “Sure. I have no plans.”

“Now you do!” Tim patted his shoulder, then finally stepped away. “Speedrun!”

“You keep saying that.” Sasha laughed, and started gathering her things as the end of the day drew closer. “Why? What does it even mean?”

“You know how most people take, like, months or years to become close friends?” Tim said, then continued without waiting for Sasha to respond, “Well, we’ve basically spilled some of our deepest secrets to each other, and sure there was a lot of time in between then and now, but look at us! I know your worst fears and tragic pasts and I don’t even know your favorite colors--”

“Blue,” Sasha interjected, and shared a grin with Tim.

“Me too! Anyway,” he cleared his throat and chuckled at the eyeroll he got from Sasha. “So yeah, we’ve been sort of skipping a lot of the fermenting process--”

“ _Please_ don’t call it that.” Sasha laughed, and kicked at him. He easily stepped out of reach of her short legs, and she didn’t bother trying to wheel herself closer.

Martin hummed. “I think mine is grey,” he said.

Tim cocked his head. “You’re going to have to explain that. Kind of an unusual color choice, if you ask me.”

“I like winter. It’s my favorite season--”

“Hey, I learned something else new about you!” Tim grinned his dazzling grin again, and Martin rolled his eyes with a smile.

“Winter is my favorite season, and grey is a pretty common color during that time, so. It, it sort of reminds me of, like, bundling up, and snow days, and staying inside with, say, hot chocolate and things like that.”

Sasha’s sigh was almost wistful, and she smiled at Martin. “I like that. That sounds nice.”

“You should write poetry,” Tim commented, then looked mischievous when Martin blushed. “You _already_ write poetry,” he guessed. “I want to read it.”

“ _No_.” Martin shoved the new case folders into his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

“Aw.” Tim pouted. “Fine, but that’s no fun.”

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” Martin waved at them and made his escape before Tim changed his mind and started harassing Martin about sharing some of his casual attempts at writing poetry.

The sky was already growing dark, bleeding blue to purple to pink, and the air was colder than it had been that morning. Martin pulled mittens from his bag and pulled them on as he descended the front steps of the institute. He was only a few feet away from the last stair when he felt a chill run down his spine unrelated to the chilly air.

He paused to look around, but nobody was looking at him or even paying any attention to him, and the chill had gone.

It sort of felt like being watched.

Martin shook his head, and started home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> points at tags  
> dont worry about it :)


	7. the supporting cast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends! every chapter i post i get comments, and i read them and giggle wildly to myself. im very bad at responding but i DO read them and i appreciate all of you so much
> 
> small note at the end about the added tag Internalized Acephobia, and small cw for something that can be read as such

The next morning, Sasha found herself, against her better judgement, in Jon’s office.

She was sitting across from him with her hands folded in her lap, a folder of field research notes held in place there, and she was watching him. Or trying to, anyway. He was so jerky and uncomfortable that he might as well have been stock still and frozen in place. She watched him pick up a few pages of loose paper, only to set them back down without looking at them or moving them. The only full action he performed while she sat there was to pick up his mug and take a drink. And she noticed his hand shaking as he brought into his mouth, and as he set it back down.

She sighed. “Jon.”

He jumped, like he had forgotten she was there. This made her roll her eyes, but she didn’t comment on it.

“Yes?” Jon asked, voice choked. He cleared his throat and repeated, “Yes?” sounding more like himself.

“Are you alright?” she asked, because she was genuinely concerned, even if that concern was pancaked between irritation and exhaustion, both only somewhat related to the situation at hand. “You’re acting...odd.”

“Yes, well.” Jon’s mouth pulled into a tight line and he avoided looking at her. His shoulders were so stiff Sasha imagined using his back as a cutting board— _weird thought, still waking up_.

“Is this about Martin?” she asked, because it was too early in the morning for her to have tact.

Jon glared down at his mug, his mouth becoming an even thinner line, and he said nothing.

It was answer enough.

“I can tell him to leave you alone?” she suggested, taking a shot in the dark about his mood this morning. Yesterday he may have been fretting over being rude and pushing Martin away, but Sasha knew him well enough to know he tended to swing wildly between two extremes. At least this way _she_ could be the one to tell Martin to back off a little, so that Jon could come in later with a different frame of mind and a desire for Martin’s attention, and no guilt. Well, not as much guilt.

Jon took another drink, and his hand was steady. “That might be best,” he muttered. Sasha wasn’t sure it was meant for her ears, so she remained silent and waited for a proper response. Jon cleared his throat and shook his head once, then said, “No, it’s alright.” He sounded...odd. Not like himself.

_I should have grabbed coffee_ , Sasha thought to herself, and wished she had the brain function to piece together her knowledge on the human disaster known as Jonathan Sims. As it was, she filed his odd tone away for later examination, and exhaled slowly in not quite a sigh.

She returned to the real world to find Jon staring at the folder in her lap, and she held it out. He took it with a mumbled thanks, and, to her surprise, set it aside for later.

“Are you _sure_ you’re alright?” she asked, and surprised herself with how uneasy she felt about the whole thing. “I know workplace romance isn’t—“ She paused when Jon made a choking sound, but he refused to give a response to his own reaction, so she continued, “Jon, you don’t have to humor him.”

“ _Humor_ him,” Jon repeated, with a scoff. “I’m not _humoring_ him, Sasha. I—“ _I want this_ , were the unspoken words, and Jon made the choking noise again, as if physically incapable of saying them. Instead, he simply said, “He’s ridiculous.”

Sasha smiled, and she got the smallest twitch of his lips in response. Something about the pained way he smiled, like he’s waiting for her to tell him to stop, made a stab of protectiveness hit her right in the chest. She exhaled, and reminded herself that Jon asked her to leave research to join him for a few more reasons aside from just her work ethic.

“Yes,” she said after a moment, and giggled. “You are.” She laughed at the offended look on Jon’s face, and added, “Martin too, don’t worry.”

“I should fire you for that,” Jon said with no venom, barely even a threat.

“You should.”

Jon let out a puff of air, one step short of a chortle. “Get out of my office, Sasha,” he grumbled. “Get back to work.”

Sasha took pride in the soft exasperation in his tone, and took her leave with a wave. Which he shyly returned.

Tim was looking at her the moment she stepped out of Jon’s office, but he waited until the door was closed to go, “Well?”

Sasha glanced at Martin’s desk, and felt a wave of relief to see him absent.

“He’s off doing field research,” Tim told her.

“I think we’re going to end up playing matchmaker.” Sasha went over and pulled her chair to Tim’s desk, plopping down beside him. He had his nose scrunched up in playful disgust. “They’re both idiots.”

“I mean.” Tim laughed. “We knew that already?”

“I suppose I’m being a little unfair.” Sasha sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, rotating herself a quarter one way, then pushing off and letting herself spin. “Jon is panicking and Martin is too considerate for his own good.”

“Panicking?” Tim held out his foot to stop her, and ignored her pouty glare. “What do you mean panicking?” When Sasha shrugged and took a sudden interest in her fingernails, Tim scoffed. “Sasha, come on. If we want to make this quick and relatively painless, we need to work together at getting them to even be in the same room together.”

Sasha heaved a sigh, but didn’t look up. “I’ve known Jon for longer,” she said, and Tim hummed an affirmative. “Well, we’ve been friends for a lot of that. As much of friends as Jon can be,” she added, when Tim snorted.

“Friends. Right.”

“He’s not _bad_.” Sasha weakly kicked his leg, and he gave a fake grunt of pain. “Oh hush. Jon is.” She paused, and carefully considered her next words. “He has...well, he’s inexperienced with people.”

“You’re going to have to explain that,” Tim muttered, focusing more on what he was writing than what he was saying. He looked up when Sasha still hadn’t responded a few beats later. “Sasha?”

“Jon is…” Sasha hummed. She couldn’t think of a delicate way to say what she wanted to say, and erred on the side of caution. So she remained silent.

Tim frowned. “Something bad?”

“ _He’s_ not—“ Sasha started, feeling frustrated words bubble up in her chest and wanting to escape.

Tim held a hand up and shook his head, and Sasha forced her mouth closed. “No, that’s not what I meant. I.” He chewed on his lower lip, staring down at his work. “I get the gist of it? I think? We stick together, right?”

Sasha let out her breath in a woosh, and nodded. “We have our work cut out for us,” she muttered.

Tim barked a laugh. “Game on.”

* * *

It was only a few hours later that Jon poked his head out of his office and called for Tim. Tim, to his credit, just stood and grabbed his completed supplementary notes and other such pertinent folders and followed Jon’s head back into his office. Sasha muttered, “Be _patient_.” as he passed her by, and he waved her off, which made her huff.

Jon was still standing when Tim entered, looking down at an open folder with his thumbnail in between his teeth and muttering to himself. Tim stood just inside his office, leaning back against the closed door, and watched him until Jon finally realized what was going on, and cleared his throat. Tim swore he was a little red in the cheeks as he set down the folder and turned to face him.

Jon said nothing. Tim said nothing. Within a few seconds it was awkward, and Jon shifted his weight back and forth between his feet. He stopped looking at Tim, or at least looking him in the eye, and started rubbing at his wrist with his opposite hand. A nervous tick, Tim knew.

When he finally said, “Here’s everything I could find on Mr. Rentoul.” Jon physically deflated, and sunk down into his chair. He accepted the folder with shaky, weak hands and all but tossed it down onto his desk, blanketed in other unopened but marked up folders. He pointedly avoided looking anywhere near Tim by this point, and did some mindless shuffling of the clutter on his desk. Anxiety and uncertainty were coming off of him in waves.

Tim hummed, which made Jon glance up at him, and he sat down in the chair in front of Jon’s desk. Jon looked up at him with something like panic in his eyes, and he frowned as if that was the facial expression that went with it.

Tim shrugged. “Wanna talk about it?”

Jon’s panic almost immediately dissolved into annoyance, and that made Tim smile. He wasn’t used to seeing Jon look vulnerable, and panic was as close as he’d ever gotten to that. It made his stomach clench uncomfortably, and Tim knew immediately that it was because he did, despite his griping and mocking, _care_ about Jon and his well being. Because Tim was the kind of guy to care about the people he saw everyday. It wasn’t a sentiment Jon shared, if previous conversations were anything to go by.

But now Tim had more information about the inner workings of Jon’s mind. Sasha, even as tight lipped as she was, revealed that something in Jon’s past, and from the sounds of it, his present too, made it difficult for him to relate to others, and Tim had a few educated guesses-- despite what Jon liked to gripe, Tim _did_ possess some manner of intelligence. Mostly emotional, but that wasn’t an important detail most of the time. Here, for once, it was. He smiled at Jon, and after a few seconds of glaring tiredly at him, Jon’s expression slackened to just plain _tired_.

“No, Tim,” he grumbled, and rubbed his face. His glasses were askew the moment he touched his nose, and he didn’t bother fixing them. He covered his eyes with one hand, and gave a loud sigh. “I very much do _not_ want to talk about it.”

“Sasha and I are worried,” Tim said, and saw how Jon’s shoulders stiffened just slightly, enough for him to notice but probably not enough for Jon to be aware of the action himself. “And you and Martin are making things really awkward,” he decided to add, and nodded to himself when Jon’s shoulders slumped in further annoyance.

“Yes, thank you, Tim,” Jon said, his irritation now coloring his tone and twisting his mouth into a grimace. He removed his hand from his face as well as his glasses, and he sighed again. “I wasn’t aware.”

“I had a chat with Martin about all this,” Tim continued.

Jon immediately mumbled, “You’re insufferable.” Tim elected to ignore him.

“You should talk to him,” he said, which apparently wasn’t what Jon was expecting, because he squinted up at Tim with a deep frown, but that was mostly because of Jon’s terrible eyesight. “Really. You two could really use a nice, long discussion about this.”

“I’d really rather not,” Jon mumbled, and Tim decided to ignore this as well.

“Otherwise things are just going to get even more awkward, until Martin decides to be his usual self sacrificing self and he, like, quits or something.”

Jon’s frown was no longer because of his squinting. He still didn’t put his glasses back on.

“I’m serious,” Tim said, and let himself sound serious for this. “You two could be good together, if--” Jon made a noise like a whine, but angrier. Not quite a growl, but along the same lines. Tim rolled his eyes. “You two could be good together,” he repeated, and Jon made the noise again but he pressed on, “If you just sat down and _talked_ about it. Relationships are built on communication, Jon.”

Jon snorted, and smiled. Which made Tim frown. It was a shaky, deprecating smile that held no positive emotion to it, and felt fake as well. None of those things Tim liked.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, Tim,” Jon snapped, and put his glasses back on his face. But he glared down at his desk instead of looking in Tim’s general direction, and he started gathering folders and sorting them into piles to busy himself. “I don’t _do_ relationships.”

Between the two options, Tim was expecting Jon to say ‘communication’, not ‘relationships’. It was both worrying and fascinating that Jon, apparently, felt ragged enough to be talking to _Tim_ about this, of all people. And Tim immediately disliked that.

Lucky for him, he had experience with this line of thinking-- both personally, and as an outsider. He inhaled, held the breath for a few seconds, then exhaled, and Jon glanced up at him. Expectant.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Tim said, and jumped at the loud bark of laughter Jon gave. He frowned. “I’m serious, Jon, you--”

He could see Jon was thoroughly finished with this conversation, though, and shut his mouth. Not that he helped his own case by starting off so harsh, but he told himself that this was something he _had_ to talk with Jon about. He knew where this train of thought could lead, and he didn’t want to see Jon take that dive any more than he’d wanted to take it himself.

Jon shook his head and waved Tim off, a wordless dismissal, with that same irritatingly negative smile on his face. Trying to force a conversation would only end in disaster, Tim knew from experience, so he heaved a sigh, stood, stretched, and paused. Jon made an irritated noise at his dawdling. Which Tim ignored.

“I’ll be around if you need me,” he said at last. At least the smile was gone, replaced by a familiar frown and half glare. Tim turned, paused again, then walked out of Jon’s office.

He lingered outside the door for a moment, after he closed it. He heard Jon’s breathy laugh, something profoundly sad ringing underneath it, and he heard Jon mutter to himself, too quiet to understand.

Sasha was frowning at him when he walked back to his desk. He met her eye, and after a moment, shrugged.

“You shouldn’t antagonize him,” she said, not quite scolding but close.

“It’s not on purpose,” Tim said, and that was true. He tended to ignore Jon’s signals of annoyance, irritation, and various other synonyms because they were...inconvenient. That didn’t accurately describe how Tim felt about them, but it was close enough. He wanted to get to know Jon, but Jon’s prickly exterior and air tight, mysterious thought processes made it difficult for Tim to parse anything aside from aforementioned signals of annoyance. He _knew_ , for a fact, that there was more underneath all of that, but he found it difficult to get past it. It was an issue he was working in, and knew he had to work on even more now that he and Sasha had agreed to try to get their coworkers to start dating.

What a ridiculous situation. Tim was excited to rise to the challenge.

“Maybe you should stick to Martin,” Sasha commented.

Tim laughed. “Maybe. I’ll probably be more useful talking to him than banging my head against the wall with Jon.”

Sasha shook her head, and quietly went back to work.

Tim spun around in his chair a few times, before finally deciding to do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> despite the way it comes across here, I do not see Jon as having any kind of internalized acephobia. however, this falls close enough to it that I added the tag as a precaution, because i'd rather not take anyone by surprise with it.


	8. ups and downs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stares at my hands  
> where am i going with this? only god knows.
> 
> cw Martin reacting badly to a closed fist, alluding to the bullying mentioned in an earlier chapter

Martin returned to the archives an hour before the workday ended, looking frazzled and frustrated, and he plopped down into his desk chair with a defeated groan.

Sasha looked up at him, watched him sit there in a tired stillness for a solid minute before he finally moved, and it was to fold his arms together on his desk and rest his head against them.

“Alright?” she asked, her surprise sneaking in with the concern.

Martin laughed into his arms. “If breaking and entering can be considered _alright_ ,” he said, voice muffled but contempt ringing clear.

Sasha frowned. “Martin,” she said, unsure of what to say next. But her tone was enough to get Martin to look up at her, looking dejected and ashamed and still frustrated.

He made a pathetic noise, and rolled over to Sasha. She stared at him for a moment, seeing the twist to his lips and the stiffness of his posture, and didn’t flinch when he brought his head forward and down onto her shoulder. He rested his forehead there, and Sasha wrapped an arm around him and patted his back. He made the pathetic noise again, and she felt herself smile a little.

“The things I do for this job,” he grumbled. He huffed with annoyance when Sasha chuckled. “I’m serious.”

“Oh I know, dear,” Sasha said, in both genuine understanding and mock sweetness. “Do you want me to call the police now, or later?”

This, at least, made Martin snort. “Later. I want coffee before getting arrested.”

“I’d offer mine, but—“

“I’d rather get arrested.”

They shared a laugh, and Sasha shook her head. “So, tell me what happened. You’re going to drive yourself mad with guilt if you don’t.”

Martin groaned. “I hate how right you are,” he mumbled, and sat back, not looking directly into Sasha’s eyes but staring at her mouth instead. He seemed to think about what he was going to say, looking one step short of pouty, until finally he said, “I was looking into one of the statements Tim handed out yesterday. Really weird one.”

Sasha hummed, trying to keep her expression neutral, given how focused Martin was on her mouth. “That’s quite the declaration, given what’s considered ‘normal’ around here.”

The corner of Martin’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t quite smile. “It was about this guy that said a spider was...stalking him, basically? Really hated him, anyway. I…” Now, he frowned. Sasha waited the few seconds it took for Martin to grimace and finish saying, “...may have broken into his flat. Or, well, at-at least the building, not quite _his_ , because it was already rented out again.”

“Oh?” Sasha didn’t know what else to say, and settled on a simple acknowledgement and gentle push to continue.

It worked, and Martin sighed and said, “I snuck in through an open basement window. Can’t say it was worth it, though.” Martin rubbed his face and groaned. “I found out basically nothing.” After a moment, he said, voice shaky and muffled because of his hands, “Jon is going to kill me.”

Sasha scoffed, and Martin leaned back further in his chair, facing the ceiling.

“He’s not going to _kill you_ , Martin,” she said, feeling annoyed at both Martin for being dramatic, and Jon for enabling it by being so dramatic himself. _Ridiculous_.

“I need to go back,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, and said louder, “I didn’t do my due diligence.”

“Sometimes it’s just like that, Martin,” Sasha said, half pleading. She patted his knee and he acknowledged it with a wiggle of his leg, but he still didn't look at her. “It’s not like every statement is going to have a clean end and explanation.”

“I wish they did,” he grumbled, then sat up and gave her a pout of frustration and calculated cuteness.

Sasha felt her resolve crumble immediately. He was just too good at puppy eyes.

“Alright, _fine_.” She reached into her desk and pulled out an unopened pack of glow sticks. “If you’re going back, go at night, so it’ll be harder to spot you. Flashlights are very obvious, so I recommend these.” She handed them to him, and he stared at the package, looking confused and surprised. “If you get caught, have an excuse ready, but if you get arrested, call me. I’ll come get you.”

Martin blinked up at her. She swore she saw tears glisten in his eyes, but he was hugging her before she was certain.

Softly, in her ear, he said, “Thanks, Sasha.”

Sasha hugged him back and sighed through her nose. “Try _not_ to get arrested,” she grumbled, and squeezed him. She held onto him for a few more seconds before letting go, and he backed off. She missed the warmth immediately. “It’s not worth your life to get all the answers, Martin. _Please_ be safe.”

“I will.” He smiled at her, shy and genuine and hopeful, and Sasha couldn’t stop herself from smiling back. “I promise I will.”

* * *

They physically bumped into each other on the way out of the archives. Jon, while not small or weak by any means, was almost knocked off his feet by Martin’s sheer size and solid weight. Martin almost didn’t notice, which made a spike of embarrassment go through him, except Jon made a high pitched noise of surprise and braced himself against the corner he had just turned. Martin looked down at him, face hot, and tried to decide on what to say first.

A second date? An apology? A short, rambling sentence that contained both of those?

He noticed the papers scattered around the hallway floor seconds later, and immediately bent down to start picking them up—

And smacked his head against Jon’s, who bent down to do the same.

Jon cursed rather loudly and braced himself against the wall again. Martin hunched down into a ball and rubbed the new sore spot on his head. This time, he did break down into a rambling sentence, while Jon hissed as he massaged his new bruise.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I-I didn’t see you! Is, is your head okay? Oh my god, Jon, I’m _so sorry_ —“

He snapped his mouth shut when Jon held his hand up, fingers curled. He hissed when Martin started talking again, apologizing more, and Martin shut up completely.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he snapped, and stood up. Martin didn’t dare look up at him, and stayed curled in his ball. While he was down there, he decided to start picking up Jon’s scattered papers. Or, at least, he got his hands on a few before Jon ordered, “Stand _up_ , Martin.”

He still didn’t look at Jon, but he saw one of Jon’s hands clenched into a fist, resting at his side. He swallowed the lump in his throat, but couldn’t think of anything to say. He stood.

Jon sighed. “Martin.” He waited a second, and Martin nodded once to show he was listening. Jon just sighed again, and repeated, voice quieter, “Martin.”

Martin glanced up at him, and saw him frowning, eyebrows furrowed, with an odd look in his eyes. The guilt swimming in his lungs kept him from maintaining eye contact, and he directed his eyes to the floor again. “Yes?” he said, a whisper, and cleared his throat. “Yes?” he said again, louder.

Jon sighed again, and his clenched hand reached out to Martin— then stopped when Martin flinched. His hand stayed frozen, suspended in the space between them, for a long few tense, awkward moments.

Then, it fell back to his side.

Jon knelt down and gathered the rest of his scattered work, then pulled the last few papers from Martin’s stiff grip.

Martin was thankful his mind was frozen and blank. He wasn’t looking forward to the crashing wave that would come, inevitably, when he got home. _Recovery isn’t a one way street_ , he remembered, but he hated the steps backwards anyway.

“Martin,” Jon said, softly. 

It took a moment to build the fortitude, but Martin looked up to meet his eyes.

Jon was frowning, but not in the usual grumpy way Martin recognized. His mind was blank with supplying the emotion in Jon’s face. Jon reached out to him again, slowly this time, almost painfully so, and he gently touched Martin’s head where he collided with Jon. Martin winced at the pain, but didn’t look away.

Jon’s frown became a grimace, and he gently prodded the area around Martin’s new bruise. So quietly, just a whisper, he asked, “Are you alright?”

Something in his voice made Martin’s eyes sting. He didn’t trust himself to speak, and just nodded.

A shuffling at the other end of the hall had Jon snapping his attention that direction, his expression shifting to his normal narrow eyed glare and sharp frown. His hand stayed on Martin’s head, now playing gently with his hair, and the stinging in his eyes grew stronger. He stepped away, and Jon’s hand fell back to his side, but he didn’t look a Martin and continued glaring down the hall.

Martin touched the spot on his head, and wondered if having his hair played with would always feel so nice.

“Sorry,” Jon said, clipped, and exhaled sharply through his nose. “For running into you. Goodnight, Martin.” And he stalked away.

Martin glanced down the hall and saw Sasha and Tim, half hiding around the far corner. Tim was giving him a grin and a thumbs up. Sasha was shooing him, looking a little desperate.

Martin didn’t let himself think about it and turned to follow after Jon at a jog. The sound of his footsteps had Jon stopping and turning around once he reached the stairwell up and out of the archives. He looked startled and half ready to bolt, but he stayed where he was as Martin caught up with him.

“Go out with me again,” Martin blurted out. He felt his face burst into flames with the embarrassment, but he forced himself to look at Jon.

He watched the shock ripple across his face, watched him blink in something caught between confusion and suspicion. Watched him look away from Martin and frown, his cheeks coloring, and heard him scoff. Watched his mouth twist into that shy smile, like he was trying to hide it, and felt himself smile back.

“Fine,” Jon said, trying to sound annoyed but failing. Mostly. “But I pick the time and location this time.”

Martin tried not to grin and failed within seconds. “Okay.” He tried to reign in the excitement in his own voice and failed at that as well. He didn’t even feel himself get embarrassed about it, just felt giddiness bubble around in his chest. _Fine_ , he heard again, a pleasant echo. _Fine_.

“Tomorrow, for lunch,” Jon said, now actually sounding annoyed. He turned away from Martin, but Martin saw the corners of his mouth go up in profile before he turned away completely. _Definitely_ smiling. He wanted to see it so badly.

“O-okay!” Martin laughed, just a little, and it sounded choked. Jon let out a huff that wasn’t quite a laugh in response, and opened the stairwell door.

“Okay,” Jon said softly, and left.

Martin watched the door close, heard Jon ascend the stairs with echoing footsteps, then felt someone tackle him from behind and push him against the door. Tim was talking in his ear, half shouting, the words going in one ear and out the other. Sasha was jumping up and down, clapping and squealing his name.

Martin laughed, and shoved at Tim. “Let go of me!”

“No chance!” Tim wrapped around him like a giant octopus and held on tight. “I’m so proud of you, Martin!”

“You’re not my dad!” Martin tried to detangle Tim’s limbs, but gave up and let Tim hug him without much of an effort. Sasha launched herself at Martin and attached herself to his side, easily lifted off the ground when Martin wrapped an arm around her to hug her back. “Guys!”

Sasha was giggling wildly. “Good job! Martin! Good job! You did it!”

“You’re not my parents!” But Martin squeezed them, and felt so happy he could cry. “It’s just a second date!”

“Small victories!” Tim started ruffling his hair, and Martin couldn’t get away with Sasha clinging to his other side. He whined loudly, but Tim didn’t stop. “ _Especially_ when it comes to you two!”

“What is that supposed to mean!”

“Alright you two!” Sasha smacked Tim’s arm, and detached from Martin’s side. Tim reluctantly let go of him as well. “Enough celebrating.”

“I don’t appreciate you guys eavesdropping,” Martin added, and crossed his arms. The genuine joy on both of their faces made it difficult to be upset with them, however. “My love life is not a soap opera for your enjoyment!”

“Love life.” Tim waggled his eyebrows with a sly grin. “ _Love life._ ”

“You’re ridiculous,” Martin told him, and Tim laughed.

“We should really head home,” Sasha said, giving Martin a blissful out.

“I do need to get going,” he said, and glanced at Sasha. Her smile became just a little strained, and she nodded. “See you guys tomorrow.”

Sasha called after him, “Text me when you get home! It gets dark very early now, and I know you live the farthest.”

“Yes, mom,” Martin called back, and grinned at the indignant noise Sasha made in response.

He hesitated at the bottom of the institute steps, waiting for the feeling of eyes on him, but nothing came. The anticipation was almost as bad, but he shook his head and continued on his way.

When he shivered, he didn’t know if it was because he freaked himself out, or if he was being observed again. He didn’t like either possibility.

But the walk to the station was quiet. The ride on the tube was crowded with the midday throng, but uneventful. His phone chimed with a text as he turned onto his street, and he saw a text from Georgie.

_you broke him_ , it said.

Martin tried not to smile and failed. Lying was easier over text, so he sent back, _Broke who?_ and let himself into his flat.

_dont play coy with me, martin blackwood_

Martin laughed, and kicked off his shoes. He didn’t get the chance to respond before Georgie texted him again:

_hes already a mess of a man and you made it worse_

Misplaced guilt swirled around in his chest, but he knew she was saying this in good humor. Still, he responded, _I’m sorry_.

He could _feel_ the eye roll in Georgie’s next text: _dont apologize, he needs to let loose_.

_Is everything alright?_

Martin managed to get off his coat and get his work out of his bag before Georgie responded:

_he doesnt want me texting you lol_

He scoffed. _Respect his wishes, maybe?_

Immediately: _no_

Then, _Be nice to him, Martin._ The sudden change in capitalization surprised him, and he frowned. _He means a lot to me_.

Martin hesitated, reading that line over and over. He was vaguely aware that Georgie and Jon were still friends, but he didn’t expect them to still be close. This put that to rest, and he was suddenly wary of the wrath of Georgina Barker if he somehow hurt Jon. The thought also made him snort— Sasha and Tim were his parents, and Georgie was Jon’s. He disliked the idea of Tim being his dad on principle. Too many bad jokes.

_Me too_ , he texted back. It was more than he liked to admit, and it had changed rapidly over the past few days. A small, simple crush rocketed itself up into an actual _possibility_. He wondered if this was how serious dating usually went, because he was woefully inexperienced already. Casual dating was different, but this was _Jon_. Martin wasn’t sure the word casual was even in Jon’s vocabulary.

The words ‘serious dating’ made him blush as he started his ritual of making tea.

He had a hot cup, with a splash of milk, and sat down to finish compiling his research notes when he got another text from Georgie.

It was a picture, of her and Jon. She had her cheek smushed up against his, grinning, with her arm wrapped around his shoulders. Jon’s glasses were slightly askew and he looked irritated, glaring directly at the camera. He had a mug in his hands that he was holding tightly enough that his knuckles were white.

Martin smiled. _He’s going to kill you_.

There was a beat, then: _id like to see him try!_

Martin laughed. He looked at the clock, then shook his head. His further exploration into the Carlos Vittery case could wait until tomorrow.

He sent Georgie a picture of the scattered work on his kitchen table, and added, _Jon is working me to death_.

Her next picture was an action shot, of what looked like her assaulting Jon with one of her couch throw pillows, and his mouth was open in a yell. He looked like a rumpled cat.

Martin resigned himself to doing little work, and texted Georgie until it was time for him to go to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on more than one occasion i asked myself, do i need to include some of the ugliness of life in this fanfic? do i really?
> 
> and then i realized im writing this for myself and decided Yes, i do, because i find that the good and the bad go hand in hand and influence our decisions in compelling ways. So Yeah !
> 
> next chapter is a small break from the normal ploy (can i even call it plot?), only 300 words, about Martin dealing with the fallout of his negative reaction here. because sometimes it doesn't hit until later. it's just a small thing, and can be skipped without missing anything important, and will be posted with a normal length chapter


	9. intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can be skipped.
> 
> cw panic attack, but he uses what he's learned to pull himself out of it

It was hard to breathe, but that was normal. Panic echoed through him, fear and shame reverberating and making him weak, and the ghost of pain made him sob.

He saw open hands and closed fists swing, so fast he couldn’t make them out, and felt the memories of stinging skin and bruises and broken bones. Yelling and shouting, taunting and teasing. Painful words thrown his direction, from unfamiliar voices, and painfully familiar faces.

He inhaled as deeply as he could, and looked around.

His curtains were green. His floors were hardwood. He had two bedside lamps, mismatched in shape and height. Turning them on would show they had different light bulbs, too. He slept with four pillows and two blankets.

His heart was still pounding, but he felt his mind slowly calming down, the storm waters subsiding. He was exhausted, his muscles shaking, but at least it was over.

He knew his therapist was going to be upset, when he told her about this. It took several mental repetitions before he believed it was because she cared about his progress, not because she would be disappointed in this setback. Some habits were hard to break.

But it had been long enough that he at least knew to take his own thoughts with a grain of salt, when they were so dark and negative. When they told him it was his fault.

It took another ten minutes for his heart to stop pounding. It took another hour before he finally fell asleep.

He dreamt of ocean waves, the water grey and the sky dark. Fog rolled along the beach, so thick he couldn’t see anything behind him, inland. He walked the edge of the water, but nothing ever changed.


	10. soulful encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am allergic to plot and instead want to write them all just being cute and talking together. and no one can stop me!!
> 
> cw Sasha recounts an encounter with a creepy guy hitting on her and Jon intervening

The first thing Jon said to him the next morning was a rough, irritated, “I don’t appreciate you antagonizing Georgie and making her attack me with a pillow.”

Martin honestly tried not to laugh, but he choked and a snort still escaped. Jon narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t believe you.” Jon pushed past him to enter his office.

Tim was grinning at Martin when he sat down. “Fun night?”

“Something like that.” Martin felt the smile on his face and didn’t bother trying to hide it. “It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” Tim said.

“How about no.”

Tim laughed. “Fine, fine. I guess I’ll get to _work_ , and wither away at my desk.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “He was at a mutual friend’s house. We swapped pictures.”

Tim rolled himself over to Martin’s desk and collided with him, pushing Martin away with the momentum. “I want to see!”

“You’re insufferable!” Martin laughed.

Tim grinned at him again. “Maybe I should make that my middle name.”

“I thought your middle name was Nosy,” Sasha commented from her desk. She snickered but didn’t look up when Tim scoffed.

“You’re so mean to me, Sasha.”

“Someone has to be,” Martin mumbled, and let himself be pushed farther away from his desk, rolling all the way to the wall.

Tim crosses his arms and huffed.

Martin pushed off of the wall back towards his desk, and ran into Tim. Tim braced himself and stayed in place, and looked down at Martin’s phone when he pulled it out. He laughed, loud and long, at the action shot of Georgie’s pillow attack. Sasha wheeled herself over to get a look herself, and giggled.

“So Jon _can_ have fun,” Tim said.

Martin put his phone back in his pocket, deciding the other pictures were too personal to share. The selfie Jon and Georgie. Of Jon burying his face in The Admiral’s fur. Of Georgie poking Jon’s cheek with her socked foot, and the following picture of Jon returning the favor of pillow assaults.

It was a fun night. He promised Georgie he’d visit during the weekend, and she promised his favorite snacks and a terrible movie.

He squawked when Sasha jabbed his side with her fingers. “By the way, Martin!” Sasha went to jab him again, but he spun just out of her reach with another panicked squawk. “You never texted me when you got home!”

Martin felt like there was a hand squeezing his heart. “Oh! Sasha, I-I’m sorry! I didn’t, I ended up staying home, I didn’t go!”

“Go where?” Tim asked, but he didn’t look up and just shrugged when he didn’t get an answer.

“I’m sorry!”

“I was really worried!” Sasha crossed her arms and frowned at him.

Martin bowed his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, quieter. He heard Sasha hum, then felt her pat his head gently. “Really.”

“I know,” she said, just as quiet. “I’m glad you had fun last night.” She was smiling when he finally looked up at her. “Are you planning on going tonight, then?”

“Maybe?” Martin’s voice was just a squeak, so he cleared his throat. It didn’t help. “I kept the glow sticks in my bag, so…”

“Glow sticks?” Tim looked up, an eyebrow raised. “Going caving or something?” He hummed with annoyance at the lack of an answer, again. “Alright, fine, don’t tell me.”

“No need to get pouty, Tim.” Sasha rolled back over to her desk and resumed working, a soft smile on her face.

“Just field work,” Martin told him. “Nothing special.”

“Special enough that Sasha was worried when you didn’t text her, though,” Tim pointed out, and waved his pen in circles in the air.

Martin hesitated, then said, “I was going somewhere...a bit unsavory.” Not exactly a lie, but not the truth. Breaking into a building automatically made it unsavory, which Martin had already accomplished. He just didn’t specify it was _his_ fault it was considered unsavory.

Tim frowned at him. “Okay,” he said, drawing it out. “Now I want you to text _me_ too. I don’t want you getting hurt while doing research on these ridiculous statements.” He waved one in the air to make a point, then went back to writing on his notepad, still frowning. “Heaven forbid this place be _normal_ ,” he muttered.

“You’re the one that agreed to Jon’s request you follow him,” Sasha pointed out, digging through the filing cabinet next to her desk. She yelped when Tim’s pen ricocheted off the back of her head. “Tim!”

“Martin,” Tim whined, and started spinning his chair, arms crossed and pouting again. “Sasha is being mean to me!”

“I think I already said that someone has to be.” He couldn’t help a smile, and watched Tim speed up and let out a long, petulant whine to go with it, like some kind of demonic merry-go-round.

“Would you three _please_ ,” Jon snapped from his office doorway. “ _Be quiet_.”

Tim didn’t stop spinning, but he did stop whining. Martin saw him pouting again from the brief glimpses he got as Tim rotated. Sasha just nodded. Martin felt a little embarrassed and a bit ashamed, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sorry, Jon,” he mumbled.

Jon huffed and closed his office door again. Sasha broke down into giggles as soon as it clicked shut.

“Alright you two,” she said. “Guess we should get back to work before _teacher_ yells at us again.”

Tim barked a laugh. “He’s adorable when he’s grumpy. Why would I stop?”

Martin blushed, felt himself nod in agreement with Tim, then cleared his throat. “He’s not ad-- he’s not when he’s _angry_ , though,” he said.

“When was the last time any of us actually saw Jon _angry_?” Tim asked, and stopped spinning to give Martin a scrunched look of incredulity. “I’m not sure he’s capable of full on _anger_.”

“He sure gets waspish, though,” Sasha mumbled.

“Irritated.” Tim held up a finger, and nodded. “Annoyed.” Then a second. “Tired.” And a third. “The three major personality traits of one Jonathan Sims.”

Martin snorted. “I mean, you’re not wrong, but-”

“Obviously there’s more to him,” Tim said, before Martin could. “That’s not my point.”

“What _is_ your point, Tim?” Sasha asked, and jotted a few more things down before turning to look at him. “That anger isn’t in his emotional range?”

“Basically?” Tim shrugged. “I’ve never seen him angry. Maybe a bit mad, but that’s not the same emotion in my book.”

“Synonyms be damned,” Sasha muttered, then said louder, “I’ve seen him angry _once_.”

Tim sat forward, grinning at her. “Once, eh? I want to hear about it.” He looked at Martin, and nodded toward Sasha. “Come on, give her those deadly puppy eyes of yours.”

Martin sputtered. “ _Deadly_ -”

“He’s already used me on them recently,” Sasha said, with something like smug pride in her voice. “I’m immune for the next two days.”

Martin waved his arms around. “ _What_ are you two-”

“Aw, damn.” Tim snapped his fingers, and pouted at her himself. “Come on, Sasha.”

“ _Deadly_ \--?” Martin said again, looking wildly between the two of them. 

Neither looked at him directly, but Tim said, “You’re hard to say no to, Martin. You’re just too sweet looking.”

“And gentle,” Sasha added. “Can’t forget gentle looking.”

Martin covered his face with his hands. “ _Guys_.”

“Come on, Sasha,” Tim whined.

Sasha sighed. “Fine, but only because I know you won’t let it drop.” She rolled over to the spot between Tim and Martin’s desks, and motioned them closer. Tim scooted over eagerly, and Martin did the same after she called his name to get his attention, since his face was still covered and he didn’t see her beckoning. “I was.” She frowned, chewing on her lower lip. “It was pretty early on in our...friendship,” she said. “I was, well. It wasn’t even at work, we just ran into each other in the store, and I. Was getting hit on,” she said, sounding like it was forced out.

Tim frowned. “Alright, I already don’t like this and I’m insanely curious, but you don’t have to tell us if you really don’t want to.”

Sasha shook her head. “It’s fine, nothing awful happens.” She smiled a little, and took Tim and Martin’s hands. They squeezed, and she squeezed back. “I was sort of backed into the shelves of the soup aisle when Jon turned the corner. He...sort of froze there for a second, and when I noticed him, I-- _god_ , I felt horrified and ashamed, because, well--”

“Yeah,” Tim said quietly. “We know.” He looked at Martin, who nodded with understanding. “Society is shit sometimes.”

“But I guess I looked like I needed help,” Sasha continued, and laughed a little. “Because he called my name and walked over and, and basically _shoved himself_ in between me and this asshole, asking me how I’m doing and how my family is-- Really awkwardly, I might add. Isn’t one for small talk now, definitely wasn’t one for it back then.” She shook her head. “So this guy, he sort of got...defensive, and upset with Jon, called him some names, said he was getting in the way, and...pushed him? Tried to move him, anyway, and.”

Sasha didn’t say anything for several long moments. Tim and Martin exchanged a worried look, but kept quiet.

Then, Sasha grinned. “The glares we get from him now are _nothing_ compared to what I saw him give that stranger. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Jon was close to getting violent. He was _livid_.”

“Sounds like a sight to behold,” Tim muttered.

“Sounds...rather frightening,” Martin commented, and shook his head.

“Oh it was!” Sasha said gleefully. “I freely admit, it terrified me at the time. But whatever that guy saw in Jon’s face made him back off and leave us alone. Jon…” She giggled. “Jon threatened him? Sort of. Told him if he recommended against bothering me again, and--” She let go of their hands to motion in the air. “You know that tone he gets when he thinks we’ve done something _really stupid_ and it still trying to process that?”

“Yeah,” Tim and Martin said at the same time.

“Now imagine it, just, casual. That tone but casual. _That’s_ what he sounded like, and it was--” She laughed. “Looking back, it was incredible. So yeah, that’s, that’s the only time I’ve seen him mad.” She looked sheepish now, and uncrossed then recrossed her ankles in a fidget.

“What happened after that?” Martin asked, too curious for his own good.

“We went shopping together.” Sasha grinned, her eyes distant with a memory. “He stuck with me the entire time, even though he was only there for, I think spaghetti sauce or something like that. It was really sweet.”

“Man.” Tim sat back in his chair. “Am I the only one that hasn’t had a soulful encounter with Jon?”

Sasha laughed. Martin blushed, and shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe I should make that my second middle name,” Tim mused.

“Third,” Sasha said. “Remember, your first middle name is Nosy.”

Something about that sparked a memory in the back of Martin’s brain, and he yelled out, “Oh, that reminds me!”

It made Tim and Sasha jump, and Tim put a hand over his heart and breathed out, “ _God_.”

Martin hunched in his chair a little. “Sorry. I just remembered. Tim--” He pointed at Tim, and then Tim pointed at himself. “You’re the one that uses the phrase ‘resting bitch face’, right?”

“Oh.” Tim grinned. “Yeah. Why?”

“I just.” Martin felt the blush creep up the back of his neck. “Had that thought when I was on-- the first time I--” He groaned, and wished he wasn’t so easily embarrassed. “Spending time with Jon,” he settled on.

“Ah, yes.” Tim chuckled. “Jon has a really bad one.”

They all looked up at the sound of a _click_ , and saw just Jon’s face, peeking out from the gap in his office door. He was glaring at them, and looked tired on top of it. He said no words, just glared until Sasha rolled back to her desk and Martin and Tim pretended to be busy. Then he closed his door again.

“Grumpy,” Tim sang, and Sasha tried very hard to stifle her giggles. She more or less succeeded, to Martin’s surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /taps mic  
> is anyone still reading this? i swear something is going to happen soon but im just having too much fun with having them all Interact with each other. sometimes a family is just four queer people in a haunted archive, ya know?


	11. side a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends! from this point onward I’ll only be updating on Thursdays (probably), because I’m reaching the end of the backlog I have for chapters and can only write so many words in a week given *gestures vaguely at everything*
> 
> Martin and Jon are both just,,,, so bad at stuff sometimes! That’s it, that’s the chapter.

The second thing Jon said to him that morning was a simple, if somewhat mumbled and clipped, “I hope you’re alright with a late lunch.”

Just the reminder that Jon had decided on lunchtime for their next-- their next--

Martin huffed his frustration at not being able to say the word-- _date_ , in his own head, in that sentence.

Jon frowned, brow furrowed. Martin realized belatedly that Jon thought he was huffing at _him._ “Oh, no, it’s alright.” He grinned, overcompensating a little, maybe, but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel embarrassed when Jon’s face softened just slightly. “As long as I get lunch at all, I’m good.”

“Yes, well.” Jon cleared his throat and looked away, something like...Martin wanted to label it as embarrassment, with the way his cheeks colored a little. It was an odd thought, that Jon was embarrassed about something. Jon shook his head and changed his sentence, saying instead, “Is one o’clock alright with you?”

“Yes.” Martin nodded what he hoped was an appropriate amount of times. His heart felt like it was going to burst open when Jon smiled, so faint it was almost invisible, but not twisted to try to hide it like other smiles Martin has seen.

Tim commented, “You two are painful to watch.” as soon as Jon retreated into his office again with another clearing of his throat and a gruff farewell. Sasha covered her mouth and giggled, but Tim tried to keep a straight face. He mostly failed.

Martin stuck his tongue out at him, and went over to an overstuffed filing cabinet to aimlessly browse as his mind restarted.

“How mature!”

“Oh hush, Tim, it’s not like you’re any better,” Sasha said, and tossed a folder onto his desk as she stood. He huffed and opened it, pouting down at his desk. “See, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“It’s a wonder you three get any work done around here,” Jon commented, making them all jump. He didn’t close his office door, and instead walked over to Tim’s desk and grabbed one in the middle of the stack he had on the corner. He opened it, nodded, then tucked it under his arm. “I can hear you guys talking, you know.”

Martin immediately flushed all the way up to his ears, but Sasha kept a cooler head and asked, “Can you really?”

Jon shrugged, tilting his head back and forth in, dare he admit it, a rather adorable gesture of uncertainty. “More or less. I know you are talking. The door tends to muffle the words, however.”

Martin deflated. So did Tim, and that made Jon frown at him.

“Do I want to know?” he asked dryly, and Tim shook his head quickly. Jon hummed, sounding curious but also annoyed, and turned to Sasha. “I trust you’ll keep Tim from destroying anything.”

Sasha grinned and gave him a mock salute, and he rolled his eyes. “Yes, boss.”

Jon sighed and turned away, taking a few steps back toward his office before stopping, and looking at Martin. Martin still had his arm half buried in the filing cabinet but froze when Jon mentioned hearing them. Now, he felt like a fool and yanked his arm free, bringing a few loose papers with it. He lifted his shoulders in the way he did when he was going to say something, Martin remembering a few times during their bookstore-- excursion. But he didn’t say anything, and instead continued into his office and closed the door behind him.

“ _Painful,_ ” Tim repeated empathetically.

“Adorable,” Sasha added with a grin.

Martin gathered up the displaced paperwork and pulled out a random folder to look over. A few folders, actually, and he hoped they were distracting enough that he could bring his mind back into the present, and make it stop reminiscing about how-- _cute_ Jon was in the bookstore.

With all but spoken permission to flourish, Martin’s crush expelled itself into the stratosphere like an overzealous bird. The intensity was a bit much, a little difficult to reign in and handle, but the little things from Jon, like his smile or his continued existence in Martin’s general vicinity (since he was so quick to snap and leave situations he found undesirable), made him want to let it explode into a shower of affection over Jon.

Which was a terrible idea, but Martin let himself dream a little.

* * *

It was a little over an hour and a half later that Jon snuck out of his office.

Yes, snuck. Or tried to, anyway.

He peeked out of the crack in the door, looking at Tim, then Sasha, then Martin, all working on something or another at their desks. Tim glanced at Sasha, who shook her head to Tim’s silent question, and Martin didn’t seem to notice Jon at all, despite how obvious he was. Jon made a quick, silent dash for the exit, and it was the sound of the stairwell door closing down the hall that made Martin look up.

“What was that?”

“Jon left,” Sasha said. Martin frowned, and checked the time.

“It’s almost lunch. I wonder where he’s going.”

“He’s plotting something,” Tim said, aiming for ominous but falling short into cartoonish. “Something--” he gasped “-- _romantic_!”

“He said one,” Martin said, completely ignoring Tim’s overdramatic routine.

Tim pouted at that, but said, “Maybe he’s getting the food delivered and that’s why he said one. Skip the lunchtime rush?”

“Wouldn’t it make sense to order lunch sooner, not later?” Sasha said, and shrugged. “Not that Jon is that great at problem solving--”

Tim barked a laugh. “Surprisingly.”

“A...smart idiot,” Martin commented, with vague annoyance and an overabundance of fondness.

Tim snickered. “He’d get so mad if he heard you two say that.”

“He can deal,” Sasha said, and looked back at her work. “He acts all mean and annoyed all the time, but he’s just a normal guy.”

“Sure. That’s why he’s the Head Archivist at this spooky place.” Tim waved his hands in the air. “Because he’s _normal_.”

Sasha rolled her eyes.

Jon peeked around the corner at them all, and retreated when Sasha looked over at him. None of them had even heard the stairwell door close.

She rolled her eyes again, and went back to work. Tim at least feigned working, watching Jon from the corner of his eye. Martin stared at his desk, hyper aware of Jon and being unable to fully process it.

Jon peeked out again, then stiffly, a little too fast to be called a walk, made his way back into his office and closed the door.

“Yeah, _normal_ ,” Tim muttered. He dodged the pen Sasha threw his way.

Martin resigned himself to not getting any more work done until after lunch. Hopefully.

* * *

Tim and Sasha left Martin to his own devices come lunchtime. They put on their coats and, Tim specifically, told him to play nice with Jon.

Martin pretended he wasn’t blushing at that, and told them to enjoy their break.

And he sat at his desk and continued working, not sure what else to do while he waited for Jon to finish his own work. He didn’t want to disturb him, in case he was lost in another statement or had his nose buried in a case file, but each minute made his stomach clench in nerves and dread.

He fully accepted that maybe Jon had forgotten about lunch, somehow, since that morning, after twenty minutes. He was resigned to that fact when, after staring into space for another ten and unable to continue focusing on the words in front of him, he heard Sasha and Tim return from their lunch break.

He was confused by the plastic bags they carried, until Tim waggled his eyebrows at him with a sly grin.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and knocked on Jon’s office door. It opened immediately, like Jon was waiting, and Tim deposited both plastic bags into his outstretched hands, saying again, “You’re welcome.”

Sasha held out the bag she was holding, more to show Jon she had it than to try giving it to him, and she smiled when he retreated into his office for a moment and returned with empty hands. She hummed when he did it again after relieving her of her burden, then said to him upon his return, “It was freshly delivered when we got back, so it should still be warm.”

“You planned this,” Tim said, sounding accusatory, amused and affectionate all at once. He nudged Jon’s shoulder with his elbow and ignored the glare he got in response. “That’s _adorable_.”

Jon blushed, the color clear on his face as he smacked Tim’s elbow away, and he snapped, “Stop _touching_ me.” He didn’t sound upset, just more annoyed than usual and a little shy. He crossed his arms and— the only way Martin could describe that expression was the word _pouty_ , and his heart skipped a beat. “Yes, thank you for bringing it down with you,” he said to Tim and Sasha, grumbling but genuinely grateful. “And stop harassing me,” he added, louder, and smacked Tim’s elbow again before it could make contact.

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Tim, behave.”

“I’m behaving!” Tim whined at Sasha, ignoring Jon’s sharp mutters of annoyance. “I’m being friendly!”

“You’re being irritating,” Jon stated, then he glanced at Martin.

Sasha grabbed Tim’s arm and pulled him away so quickly Martin imagined the hooked cane from old cartoons, dragging them both off the stage. She disappeared with him into the break room, and then furious whispering filtered out from behind the door. There was some giggling as well, but.

Martin ignored them, because now Jon was staring at him.

“I, uh.” Jon motioned over his shoulder, and looked that direction for a moment. His cheeks were still a little red from earlier, and Martin felt only a little cheesy when the word _breathtaking_ came to mind. “I got lunch?”

The slightest of upward inflections made Martin grin. “Did you? I thought Tim and Sasha brought it down.” But he got up from his desk and started making his way over.

Jon fidgeted with the rolled up sleeves of his button down, and moved out of the doorway to let Martin in first. “I paid for it,” he muttered. Then he huffed, when Martin laughed. “It was. I hadn’t.” He avoided looking at Martin’s face, and closed the door behind him. Then he exhaled sharply through his nose and walked over to sit down at his desk, which—

Martin just now noticed was actually _clean._ Maybe not in the traditional sense, but there were only a few marked up folders stacked on the corners with the company-required name plate perched on top of one pile. The middle of his desk was empty aside from a few loose pens and pencils, and the bags of food. He spotted the redistributed clutter plaguing the flat surfaces of nearby filing cabinets and stacked boxes, and fought the urge to comment. How very Jon to simply move things and not put them away.

“So what did you get?” Martin asked, even though he could smell the sweet and sour sauce and the fried peppers.

“Chinese,” Jon said, his voice quiet but not soft. He maintained his hard tone, even as he spoke into the calm atmosphere. “I. Didn’t think to ask what you wanted until after I ordered.”

“That’s alright.” Martin tried to give him a reassuring smile, even as his heart pounded away in his throat and he saw starbursts in his eyes. “I can smell the sweet and sour.”

“Yours, then,” Jon said, and nudged a bag forward. Martin pulled it to his side of the desk, and finally sat down in the chair there. “I got crab meat rangoons as well.”

Martin said, “Exciting!” without really hearing himself, and pulled out the boxes of Chinese takeaway and the packet of plastic utensils. Chicken and vegetables, sauce, and plain white rice. Plus a small bag with three rangoons in it, and Martin immediately ate one.

Jon had a similar setup on his side of the desk, but it looked like he had fried rice instead of white, and something with noodles. He said, “Mongolian beef.” and did the same as Martin, immediately eating one of the rangoons.

Martin opened the plasticware and got to eating with a brief, enthusiastic “Thank you for the food!” He got one slice of carrot in his mouth before he stopped to watch Jon, because Jon had broken apart the chopsticks and used them effortlessly. The noodles didn’t seem to pose any problem to him, nor the rice, and Martin wondered vaguely if he was always so talented.

Jon glanced at him, and blushed. “It’s rude to stare,” he muttered with no heat. Martin looked back down at his food.

“Sorry,” he said, then looked up at Jon again. “I didn’t know you knew how to use chopsticks.”

“An odd talent, I know,” Jon said dryly. He picked up a clump of rice and popped it into his mouth, and Martin decided that surviving this was his number one priority. Everything Jon did made his stomach do a backflip. “Georgie called me a weeaboo for it.” And he rolled his eyes.

Martin almost choked on his food, and coughed into his elbow. Jon half stood, one hand outstretched with worry plain on his face.

“A w— you know what that is?” Martin asked, a little raspy from his battle with rice.

Jon’s eyes narrowed and he sat back down, his expression turning a shade irritated. “Yes? Why wouldn’t I?”

“That’s—“ Martin didn’t know how to explain himself, so he settled on the thought that rocketed itself to the forefront of his brain instead. “How _old_ are you?”

Jon looked a little offended at the question, and stabbed his rice with his chopsticks. “Old enough to know what a weeaboo is, Martin,” he said. He stabbed again without picking up any food.

Martin shook his head. “That’s— that’s not what I mean, Jon, it’s. It’s just that that’s so...specific?” He made figure eights in the air with his fork, trying to puzzle out how to phrase what he was feeling. “I never, I never really pegged you for much, well, recreational internet use.”

Jon hummed. “Blame Georgie,” he said, then finally took another bite. Then, after swallowing— which Martin did _not_ watch, because that’s _weird_ — he asked, “How old do you _think_ I am?”

He sounded...curious. And a touch amused. Martin didn’t like that one bit, but it still did odd things to his insides.

“Like.” Martin took in Jon’s frown lines, greying hair, stubble, and old fashioned clothing, and decided on, “Mid forties?”

Jon, wisely, waited to continue eating until after Martin said his answer, but he still made a choking noise. “ _No_ ,” he said, then coughed. “I’m _twenty-eight._ ”

He, somehow, still looked pleased by this misunderstanding. Martin had yet another realization that there was a lot he didn’t know nor understand about the inner workings of Jon’s mind.

But still. He thought Jon was middle aged— and on top of that, was apparently still attracted to him. 

Jon was younger than him by a year and was _already greying_. 

_Jon was younger than him._

Martin thought numbly, _Tim is never going to believe this._

Jon was glaring at him, waiting for more than the short “Oh” Martin breathed out in his own surprise. He was grumbling, so quiet there might as well have been no sound to it, even though Martin could hear the humming of Jon’s voice. He swirled noodles around his chopsticks but didn’t take the bite, just occupying his hands.

Before Martin could formulate something better to say, he blurted out, “Holy hell, you’re younger than me.”

Jon bristled, and put down his food to cross his arms. “Yes, that is how numbers work, Martin,” he snapped.

Martin shook his head. Jon made a noise of offense, and ran a hand through his hair-- the motion caught Martin’s attention immediately, and he watched how Jon’s hair fell back into his eyes as soon as his hand stopped holding the strands back. Grey and brown, and getting a little long.

He knew better than to ask why Jon was greying. He knew better than to try thinking about it on his own, too, because his mind always went to the worst case scenario. In this case, Martin shook his head again (Jon made another noise, not quite sounding offended anymore but still irritated), and tried to smile at Jon.

Jon’s eyes narrowed with clear suspicion. He searched Martin’s face, the intensity too much for Martin’s (currently) delicate emotional disposition and he immediately blushed under the scrutiny, but he seemed to find something to his satisfaction, and he settled back into his chair. “Well alright then,” he said, sounding calmer but still annoyed.

“Sorry,” Martin mumbled, and stared down at the skewered chicken on his fork. Whether Jon believed that he was genuine in his apology was impossible to tell from the hum he gave in response, but Martin hoped he did. Or at least hoped that Jon didn’t dislike him _more_ from his complete lack of tact with this situation.

Which he momentarily forgot about when he commented, “You always struck me as older.”

Jon snorted, and muttered, “Oh really?” before taking a bite of food. He watched Martin with half lidded eyes, looking both amused and tired, which he probably was anyway. Martin realized he was staring the moment Jon’s eyebrow twitched upward in a silent question, and he looked away.

“I mean,” he said, and tried to actually pull something similar to composure out of the whirlwind that was his head. He somewhat succeeded, and the pause hung in the air for a solid, awkward thirty seconds before he continued with, “The way you dress, the way you talk, your, your apparent...interests and hobbies. It all struck me as, well, _older._ ”

Jon hummed. “That’s the goal,” he said dryly.

Martin sighed, and let the conversation drop completely. The silence that followed was even more awkward, but he refused to break it with more pointless rambling or shoving his other foot into his mouth as well. And Jon seemed content to remain quiet, and finished his lunch without another word.

Martin lost his appetite and closed the cardboard container, setting it on Jon’s desk.

Jon cleared his throat and checked his watch. “Our lunch break is over,” he said, with a sigh that made Martin pause. It was much longer than his usual puffs and snorts, sounding, dare he say, _wistful_. But it was punctuated with a dismissing hand gesture and Jon reaching for some of the work he temporarily displaced for this whole lunch...date. He managed to think the word with little fuss this time around, but that was probably due to the sour taste in his mouth and lost appetite.

Martin gathered the trash into one of the plastic bags, put his unfinished food into the other, and left without another word. He didn’t look at Tim or Sasha as he made his way to the break room and deposited the trash in the bin and the food into the fridge.

There was a pain in his chest, just below his heart, that he didn’t know what to name. He knew it wasn’t a physical pain, somehow, but the dull ache was unpleasant and the more he focused on it the worse it got. Disappointment, maybe? Heartbreak felt like too strong of a descriptor for how new and shaky this whole relationship was, but Martin knew himself to feel strongly, especially the negatives. So he settled on Heartbreak, and decided to just try to forget about this and maybe go back to how things used to be in the archives-- and yes, he realized he was being a bit dramatic, but felt entitled to at least lean into it until he felt better. His- dad always told him to let himself feel what he needed to, and he stood by that. Even if his mother didn’t like it.

He jumped at the hand on his shoulder, and realized he’d been staring into the open fridge for several minutes. Tim was giving him a look, caught somewhere between angry and pitying, and quietly asked, “Do I need to kill him?”

It made something in Martin move, and he found himself smiling and laughing a little, which deepened Tim’s frown. “No, please don’t. It’s alright.”

“Is it?” Tim asked, at the same time Martin’s mind supplied the same words: _Is it?_

Martin shrugged, but Tim’s hand stayed firm on his shoulder. “I’m processing,” he admitted. Might as well tell the truth to Tim, of all people. He was his friend, quickly rocketing up into his _best friend_ spot, displacing no one because, Martin was now realizing, he didn’t have many friends to begin with. Sasha was a close second, and while the thought made him a little sad that his closest friends were also his work friends, he liked being able to talk to them every day. Company was always nice.

“Okay.” Tim squeezed Martin’s shoulder, then let him go. “Let me know if I need to kill our boss,” he added after a moment, and smiled when Martin snorted.

“Okay.” Martin felt the overdramatic heartbreak lessen, and he smiled back at Tim. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Tim said, sounding casual but looking serious, and he patted Martin’s back before heading back out into the archives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I threw a dart for the ages so don’t think too hard about those
> 
> and also the lack of blatant supernatural influences makes their job a little less....serious? I did not interpret TMI to be a super serious job in this, and given that it isn’t the focus I basically handwaved it away lol


	12. side b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something something plot something something  
> every time i post a chapter i reread it and make myself happy, because im writing what i want to read and im entertained by it, even though my writing is entering a transitional stage where it's not as good as i want it to be
> 
> writing is hard but we do it anyway~!

Jon had his head in his hands when Sasha slipped into his office. She made a small noise of surprise, which he responded to with a huff, and she sat down in the empty chair and reached across his desk to him. He put his wrist in her palm almost immediately, and held onto her with a vice grip.

“You did it again, didn’t you,” she said, with just enough of an upward inflection to make it a question. Jon groaned into his arm, which he rested his face against. Sasha noticed his glasses folded beside him, and grabbed them with her free hand. They were filthy. “Jon, you--”

“I _know_ ,” he said, voice muffled, but he squeezed her wrist instead of letting go like she expected. “Thank you, Georgie.”

Sasha smiled just a little, and hummed. “You should learn to take her advice, Jon.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he grumbled, and if he put a little more energy into it, might have sounded annoyed. But he just sounded depressed.

“Tell me what happened.” Sasha squeezed his wrist, and marveled at how small and boney it was. He continued to be a weird mix of tall and lithe, but also sharp angles hidden in obvious places, even after so long.

“I might as well have told him I hate him,” Jon said, and sounded too close to unstable for Sasha’s liking.

But she knew where this was going, and shook his arm. He looked up at her with a glare softened by an out of place sorrow in his eyes. “Jon, just because you panicked and pushed him away doesn’t mean this is the end.”

Jon huffed and returned his head to his arm, ignoring her.

“You’re spiraling, Jon,” she said.

He huffed again.

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

Jon didn’t lift his head to glare at her this time, just peeking over his arm, but it was sharp and irate in a more familiar way, and that made Sasha relax just a little. “Yes, let’s have my- friend play messenger, I’m sure that will go over well,” he griped.

Sasha grinned at him calling her his friend. A small thing, but significant. “Not as badly as you might think,” she said, trying to distract him from her joy. He narrowed his eyes at her and didn’t seem to take the bait. She squeezed his wrist again when he buried his face in his forearm again, and he squeezed back after a moment of hesitation. “You two just need to learn how to communicate. You’re both pretty bad at it.”

Jon scoffed, and sat up again. “I never pegged Martin to be bad at communication,” he said, in another small concession.

Sasha tried very hard not to smile but failed, and found herself smiling more at the peevish frown she received in response. “Rose colored glasses,” she said, by way of explanation.

Jon added a glare to that frown, still peevish. “You’re mocking me,” he pointed out, and went to pull his wrist out of her grip, but stopped when she tightened it. Then he sighed. “Sure seems like it,” he mumbled.

“I don’t mean to make it sound like I am, Jon.” Sasha squeezed again, and he looked down. “I love you, but you have to admit you’re a bit dim sometimes.”

His fingers spasmed against her skin when she said ‘I love you’, but he brought no attention to it. “Yes, _thank you_ , Sasha,” he snapped.

“You need to make this up to him,” she said, and held his eyes when he looked up in surprise. “I mean it. You can’t wait for him to come back, Jon, because if it was as bad as you say it was, then he’s going to do the Martin thing and respect your wishes.”

Jon glanced behind her at his door for just a second, then looked back into her eyes. He searched for something there, frowning in a way she hadn’t seen since before he took the Head Archivist job that told her he was so lost in thought nothing could break him out except finding a solution. It was a look not dissimilar to how entranced he got with the statements he found particularly troublesome or fascinating, but with a firmer base. A stubbornness.

So she waited, and watched his emotions play across his face like they always did when he wasn’t paying attention.

Sadness. Resignation. Confusion. Annoyance. More annoyance, which made her smile. A spark of an idea, just a slight smile, then he looked away and rubbed his face with his hand, sighing into his palm. Sasha blinked rapidly to stop her eyes from watering because she held them open for so long.

“Well?”

Jon groaned. “I...have an idea.”

“Do you want to run it past me, first?” Sasha suggested, half because she was curious, half because she was worried. She knew about his tendency to go overboard, because she had been on the receiving end many times over the years. She still had the photo album he gave her, and she looked at it often, but it was still weirdly personal at the time.

Jon groaned again. “Not right now. I. I want to think on it more.”

“Try not to _over_ think it, Jon.” Sasha patted his hand, then released his wrist. He rubbed it with his other hand. “You do that a lot.”

“I know,” he grumbled. Then, quieter, he said, “Thank you.”

Sasha stood, smoothed out her skirt, and smiled at him. “It’s what friends do, Jon,” she said, and left before he finished sputtering in surprise.

* * *

Martin and Tim stared at her, unsure of what to say. Sasha dutifully ignored them and plowed through her work, compiling a full folder of follow up notes and added research for one of the statements Tim had handed out the day before. She adjusted the glasses on her head as if it was the most natural gesture in the world, and Tim and Martin exchanged a glance.

The silence was too much to bear after another few minutes, and Tim blurted out, “Why do you have Jon’s glasses?”

Sasha smirked but didn’t look up from her laptop. “Punishment,” she said simply, then made a face and added, “And to try to make a point, but I don’t think he’ll get it.”

“I’m down for the ‘punishment’ part of it,” Tim said in a mumble, and flipped through some papers without actually looking at them. “Just give the word and he’s out,” he said louder, in Martin’s general direction.

Sasha giggled. “It’d do no good. He’d probably thank you.”

Tim’s face scrunched up with disgust. “Ew. No, thank you. I’ll pass.”

Sasha laughed.

Martin rolled his eyes. “It’s _alright_ , Tim.”

Tim huffed, and crossed his arms. “I still don’t like it.”

“You mean Jon,” Sasha corrected, and directed her earlier smirk at him when he frowned at her. “You don’t like Jon. I don’t think you ever have.”

“We have differing personalities, is all,” Tim said, sounding petulant and defensive.

“I think that’s a bit of an understatement, Tim.” Sasha adjusted her actual glasses to be farther up on her nose, and grinned. “Any minute now.”

“Oh no.” Tim looked at Jon’s office door. It opened as if on cue, but Jon didn’t come out. He didn’t even peek, but that was probably because it’d do nothing, given that Jon didn’t have his glasses.

But then one of his eyes came into view from the crack in the doorway, glaring right at Sasha. She smiled and waved at him, the picture of perfect innocence, and he glanced up at his glasses on her head and scowled at her.

“Wait.” Tim sat forward, looking at Jon, then at Sasha, then back to Jon. Jon redirected his scowl to Tim, losing none of the intensity. “I thought you were practically blind,” he said.

“I’m farsighted, Tim,” Jon said, sounding, surprisingly, just tired and not annoyed. Which was unusual. Despite himself, Martin felt a bubble of worry in his chest, right behind the heartache.

“Pretend I don’t wear glasses.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “He needs them to see up close, but he can see fine if it’s farther away.”

“Oh.” Tim paused, and grinned. “ _Oh_. I see. I see now.” He tapped his temple with a finger, pointing at Sasha with his other hand. “Diabolical. I love you.”

Sasha giggled. Jon scoffed, and closed his door.

Martin blinked. “I missed something,” he said. Sasha gave him a gentle pitying look, and got up from her desk. He watched her take the glasses off of her head and hold them out to him. He stared, not sure he wanted to take them.

“You and Jon need to work on your communication,” she told him. “Tim and I aren’t always going to be able to help you puzzle out your own or each other’s feelings.”

Martin took the glasses numbly, only sort of hearing what she was saying. He lost it at ‘you and Jon’ and didn’t have the energy to get it back in time to formulate an actual response. So he just said, “...alright?”

“He’s a bit fried,” Tim said, and the pitying look on Sasha’s face returned.

“Give them to Jon,” she said, and tapped the glasses in his hand. “Only once you’re ready. He has a spare, so he doesn’t necessarily need this specific pair, but they’re his only transition lenses.”

Tim snorted and muttered something that sounded like, “He’s such an old man.” that Martin wanted to correct but couldn’t form the words to.

“We’re here for you, Martin.” Sasha patted his hand and smiled at him, gentle and open. “We’re rather invested in your happiness, actually.”

“Tends to happen after spilling your darkest secrets,” Tim pointed out. He laughed when Sasha just shrugged. “But she’s right,” he said, now to Martin, who blinked and looked at him with a confused and slightly blank expression. Instead of saying what he was originally planning on saying, he said, “Team Archive.”

“That includes Jon,” Sasha pointed out, like that was going to change his mind.

“I know.” Tim stuck his tongue out at her. “He’s sort of part of the archives.”

“You’re a walking contradiction, Tim.” Sasha returned to her desk but didn’t sit down just yet. “Thanks for being here,” she said, with such genuine emotion that it made Tim’s eyes water a little.

“There’s no way I was going to leave you two alone with _Jon_ ,” he said, and it wasn’t quite a lie. The reason wasn’t so simple, but he had to admit he was attached to everyone here. Yes, even Jon, the prickly bastard.

“Were you leaving?” Martin asked, and he still sounded distant but now also confused. His voice was a little higher than usual in what Tim had come to recognize as mild panic, but it didn’t show on Martin’s face or, more importantly, in his eyes. So it was more reflex than actually felt.

“A while ago, I thought about it,” he said, and shrugged. “But now I’m all in on this little dysfunctional family.”

Sasha went “Aw, Tim!” and giggled, but when she opened her mouth to say more she was interrupted by Elias, standing in the door to the hallway.

“It’s nice to see you all getting along,” he said, then glanced at Jon’s closed door. “Mostly.”

“You missed the glowing heart to heart we had two minutes ago,” Tim said, and Elias leveled a blank stare at him that clearly stated he knew it was a lie. “Jon cried in my arms,” he added, like it would help.

Elias at least cracked a brief smile. Then, all business as usual, he asked, “How is the reorganization going?”

“Not great!” Sasha said cheerfully. “Whoever trashed this place the first time really did some damage.”

“Not to mention the sheer number of statements that looked like they hadn’t seen the light of day since being written down.” Tim waved a few in the air, fanning himself with them.

“Do you have enough filing cabinets?” Elias asked, and nudged at a pile of folders scattered on top of the closest one. There was a slight grimace on his face, but whether it was from the general disarray or from displeasure was hard to tell.

“For now?” Sasha made a face, and shrugged. “It’s a work in progress. We’re doing solidly _okay_ right now.”

“Solidly okay is better than nothing,” Elias said with a sigh. “By the way, I ask that everyone please be careful on your way home tonight.” 

“Why?” Martin asked, voice high with panic again, but it was clear in his eyes as well. This was apparently enough to bring him up out of the fog Jon left him in, to Tim’s annoyance. Negatives upon negatives.

“There’s been a suspicious individual loitering around the institute the past few days.” Elias sighed through his nose and folded his arms behind his back. “The police are aware, but there haven’t been any arrests yet. So please, be careful on your way home. And tell Jon the same thing, though no doubt he’ll just sleep in the archives again.”

“We’ll make sure he gets home,” Sasha said to him. Elias tilted his head to her in thanks.

Then he nodded to each of them, gave Jon’s door something one step short of a glare, and turned on his heel and left.

The three of them waited for a few seconds until they heard the door to the stairwell close, then Tim and Sasha started talking over each other.

“‘Loitering’, how pretentious can he--” Tim said.

“I hope nothing bad happens to--” Sasha said.

“A _suspicious individual_ ,” Tim repeated with air quotes, and that made Sasha giggle, even if she did give him a reprimanding glare immediately afterwards. “For all we know, it’s someone that wants to give a statement but is too scared to come in.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Martin mumbled. Tim grinned at him, and he looked at Sasha instead of facing the relieved happiness on Tim’s face. “What do you think, Sasha?”

“That we should take this seriously for now,” she said, and sighed. “Better to be safe than sorry, anyhow.”

“Who’s going to tell Jon?” Tim asked, while staring right at Sasha.

She rolled her eyes. “Like I was going to let either of you do it. He’ll whine at me about stealing his glasses, sure, but that’s the worst he can do to me.” She got up and adjusted her blouse. “One of these days you’re going to have to get over yourself and have a proper conversation with the guy,” she said to Tim, and pointed at him with a fully extended arm. Tim shook his head and held his arms out. “I mean it! We’re all pretty similar in a few ways, but I think you don’t like Jon so much because you two are so similar, not because you have _differing personalities_ ,” she said, using the same sarcastic air quotes he did.

“Roast me to the ground, why don’t you,” Tim grumbled, but he didn’t seem all that upset. “Go tell our boss he’s in danger already.”

Sasha barked a laugh and popped into Jon’s office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: there was actually a first chapter i cut because it wasn't working out the way i wanted to, where i explained the changes to everyone's lives with the entities not existing in universe. that's what Tim's referencing with spilling dark secrets


	13. second (third) (fourth) (fifth) chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: forgets what day it is  
> also me: thinking about my fic all morning
> 
> almost forgot to update lmao

Tim made the executive decision to make himself Jon’s problem again before heading home for the day. He thought that to himself as a joke, but knew that the odds weren’t exactly in his favor when it came to staying on Jon’s good side-- _if he even has one_ , he thought to himself, and then shook his head. That wasn’t fair to Jon. Sasha had described them as being similar, which wasn’t something he had considered before, but, well. Now that he’s ruminated on it for a while, at this point, he can only begrudgingly admit that she probably has a point.

He knocked with a knuckle on Jon’s door, and actually waited for him to answer before letting himself in. Jon didn’t immediately look up, his eyes scanning whatever document was in his hand, so Tim waited by the door after he closed it. It took another few seconds before Jon blinked and looked up, and then he immediately frowned.

“What do you want, Tim?” he asked, but he didn’t sound as irritated as he looked. If anything, Tim wanted to read his tone as something like _concerned_ , because of the way the edges weren’t as jagged and his voice wasn’t pitched as low as usual.

Tim shrugged. “I wanted to talk,” he said, because he walked into this without an actual plan and that was, yet again, biting him in the ass. Spontaneity wasn’t the usual for him, despite what it seemed like from the outside. Usually he liked to put at least some thought into a decision before following through with it, but in this case he jumped in without thinking and found himself floundering. With the way Jon’s brow furrowed and he tilted his head, something must show on Tim’s face that kept him from falling into the familiar patterns of annoyance at Tim’s pestering.

 _I don’t know why I’m doing this_ , Tim thought to himself, as he stepped forward and sat down in the chair in front of Jon’s desk. _I should just stick to Martin_.

“Talk about what?” Jon asked. He shifted one shoulder away from Tim, as if preparing to run if he absolutely had to. He set down the document in his hands and laced his fingers together, fidgeting with the ring on his right hand, which--

“When did you get that?” Tim asked, and pointed down at it. Jon didn’t wear jewelry to work, though Tim had of course noticed the holes for piercings in his ears, and the ring was a new addition but looked worn, with the edges scratched and losing its black coloration.

Jon paused in the fidgeting to look down at it, and he frowned at it thoughtfully, as if he forgot he had put it on in the first place. “Ah,” he said, and gave it one last twist before looking up at Tim. There was a sharpness to his eyes, with the way he was looking at Tim through his eyelashes. Tim frowned. “Sasha suggested it.”

Tim tilted his head. He blinked. Jon frowned at him in return, but he waited for Tim to make the first move.

Which he did, by saying, “Yeah, same.”

It was Jon’s turn to blink, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry?”

Tim rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “Not the same flavor,” he said. “But pretty close.”

Jon blinked again, and sat up, straighter, with that sharpness in his eyes giving way to a curious light. “You--”

He stopped there, so Tim nodded. It was weird to talk around the topic like this, but he was entirely certain that Jon would get overly embarrassed and shut down the instant the words _asexual_ or _aromantic_ were even uttered.

“So-” Jon held his hands up and shook his head, looking down at his desk with unfocused eyes as he sorted through old memories through a new lens. “Wait.”

He stopped there again, so Tim said, “I’m waiting.” He got a withering stare and an eye roll, but Jon continued his mental reorganization, his eyes shifting from side to side as if he was reading a physical book.

“How long?” he asked. He cleared his throat, a redness coming to his face, as he pressed his lips into a thin line. “Have you known, I mean,” he added.

“Ah.” Tim rubbed the back of his neck again and looked around the room instead of at Jon. This felt awkward, definitely, but he also set himself up for this, and knew immediately that this was the best way to start bridging the gap he dug between them. “Since...I think I was fourteen?”

Jon let out a breath in a whoosh, and he was rubbing his eyes with one hand, holding his glasses in the other. He was muttering to himself, but it sounded like nonsense and not any kind of language, and did so for several more seconds before putting his glasses back on and looking up at Tim again. “So we seem to have that in common, at least,” he said. His tone was flat, but with the way it looked like the corners of his mouth were tilted up, almost unnoticeable, Tim wanted to say he was trying to make a joke.

Tim laughed a little, and shook his head. “Out of everything, yes. Turns out we’re not complete opposites in everything there is.”

Jon snorted and rolled his eyes, muttering, “And they say opposites are supposed to attract.”

Tim snorted too, trying to keep himself from laughing, but he failed and it still came out as a strangled gurgling. That, in turn, made Jon’s smile grow just a little more, and he chuckled in turn.

“Was that really what you wanted to talk to me about, Tim?” Jon asked, and actually rested an elbow on his desk, leaning forward. He put his fist against his temple and gave Tim another look, some kind of suspicious and entertained fusion, and huffed his signature chortle.

“Well, no, but.” Tim shrugged, and the air felt soft enough that he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, folding one leg over the other. “I didn’t exactly come in here with a plan.”

“Do you ever?” Jon asked, and then froze for the split second it took before Tim barked laugh.

Tim watched Jon thaw out, shoulders slumping for a moment before he sat up again, resuming the casual position from before. “No, not according to Sasha,” he said. “She insists I don’t think about anything, though.”

“I’m inclined to agree with her,” Jon said, but shook his head. “Though I admit you and I don’t exactly have as lengthy of a history by comparison.”

Tim chuckled and shook his head too, thinking back on Jon asking him to come to the archives with him. They weren’t on the best of terms back then, either, but Tim knew that Jon was at least tolerant of his playful work ethic and at least satisfied with the results of his work coming from that. It was just as likely that Jon asked him to come because he was one of two people he regularly spoke to, but--

It was said so simply, so unassuming, that Tim almost missed it. He furrowed his brow and looked up at Jon again, who was watching him with something like unease darkening his face, and it was when Jon quirked an eyebrow at his stare that Tim knew he hadn’t imagined it.

“Yeah,” he said, because he wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip him by. “But I don’t think it’s too late to work on that.”

Jon nodded and started gathering an assortment of papers into a folder, looking everywhere but at Tim as he said, “I suppose you’re right.” He closed the folder and held it together with a binder clip to prevent the contents from spilling out. “We may be...busy,” he said with clear disdain, and his lip curled with it when he held up the folder to Tim. A quick glance showed him another case, open ended but otherwise organized according to their new filing system. “But I don’t think we’re so busy that we can’t have some kind of social life.”

“My god,” Tim said, before he could stop himself. Jon narrowed his eyes at him in another glare, but it held half its usual heat and seemed more confused than outright annoyed. “Sorry, I just never thought I’d hear you say something like that. You practically live at the archives, from what I can tell.”

“I don’t,” Jon griped, and Tim would _swear_ it was accompanied with a brief pout, but who’d believe _that_? Sasha? No way. “But I see why you’d think that, given your…” Jon motioned vaguely at him, looking him up and down. “Allergy to being punctual.”

Tim glowered at him, but he couldn’t exactly deny it given he made it a point not to show up on time each morning. He wasn’t about to wake up at some ungodly hour of the morning to commute to a job that was salaried anyway. And, not that Jon knew this, but he even brought it up to Elias and got a rather languid wave of the hand and a response of relative indifference.

Instead, he said, “I have my reasons.”

Jon looked him right in the eye for a solid few seconds, before he nodded and looked back down at his desk. “At least you’re consistent,” he muttered instead. It was enough of a concession that the air, once falling back into tense, started lifting up into casual again.

Tim nodded. “Anyway.” He patted his knee and stood up, shrugging when Jon raised an eyebrow at him yet again. “I think this is good enough for a first step, yeah? No need to try to overexert ourselves with trying to be friends. That’ll do the opposite of help.”

“Right, yes, I suppose that’s fair.” Jon shrugged too, and shook his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Tim,” he said, and smiled at him for a fraction of a moment.

“Yeah,” Tim said, and made his way to the door. He paused to look back at Jon, who was already focused again on whatever he was reading when he first knocked, and decided that he might actually understand where Martin was coming from.

Sasha immediately cornered him once he closed Jon’s door behind him, frowning at him and crossing her arms in a way that hand him holding his hands up.

“Nothing happened!” he said, and edged away from where Sasha was trying to corner him, heading towards the breakroom. Sasha made a noise in the back of her throat that spoke volumes for her disbelief, and Tim rolled his eyes. “We actually came to something of an understanding,” he added.

“An understanding,” Sasha repeated, tone flat. Her hands were on her hips when he turned to look at her, but she wasn’t as annoyed or as suspicious, so that was a plus. “About what, exactly?”

Tim grabbed his tupperware from where Martin had washed it and set it to dry on a towel, and shrugged. Sasha made that same noise again, but now she was even less annoyed and suspicious and her curiosity was visibly growing.

“Things,” Tim said, and laughed when Sasha scoffed and swatted at him, purposefully missing him by a mile. “I told him I liked his ring.”

“Oh?” Sasha blinked, and then went, “Oh!” and grinned at him. “See, I knew it was a good idea.”

“It was a good one, I have to admit.” Tim gave her a mock bow, and she scoffed at him again, punctuating it with a laugh. “I didn’t think literally all of us were, you know.”

“Birds of a feather flock together?” Sasha said, with a shrug and a laugh.

“Now we just need these two pining fools to talk to each other.” Tim shook his head. “Hopefully sometime soon, too, because this is getting painful.”

“Are they really pining if they’ve already been on a date?” Sasha asked, and then giggled to herself. Tim turned to look at her, ready to answer her rhetorical question, when he noticed she wasn’t even looking his direction. Instead, she pointed back out the breakroom door, to where Jon had poked his head out of his office and was looking around, frowning. Sasha quickly pulled herself together when Jon spotted her and started her direction, and Tim quickly decided that staying as silent as possible was the best decision he could make for the next five minutes.

“You…” Jon paused at the threshold, looking at Tim, but he was only thwarted for a moment before he turned back to Sasha. “...haven’t seen Martin anywhere, have you?”

“He was taking out the trash,” she said with a nod. “Should be back soon, since his stuff is still here. He’s not leaving _just_ yet.”

Jon nodded, and Tim hadn’t noticed that his posture was stiff until he deflated at Sasha’s assurances, shoulders relaxing and chin tilting down just a little.

“Good.” Jon nodded, and then blushed just a little, enough to bring more color to his face and make some of the blemishes stand out more. “I...have to talk to him.”

“Good idea,” Sasha said, and nodded too.

Tim so desperately wanted to pipe up and butt in it was like a physical ache, but he kept his snarky comments to himself and watched the two of them nod at each other again.

“I think you’d do best to catch him as he’s leaving,” Sasha told him. “No particular reason why, on his end, but it gives you an out if you need to flee.”

“Flee,” Jon repeated with a scoff and an eye roll. “I’m not going to flee.”

“Still.” Sasha smiled at him, and Jon, almost imperceptibly, smiled back.

“Thank you,” Jon said, and it was the softest Tim had heard Jon’s tone in years. When he said, “I’ll see you both tomorrow, then.” and turned to head back into his office, he sounded like his usual self again, but the velvet quality rang around in his head like the peal of a bell.

“You’re staring,” Sasha told him, and she put two fingers under his jaw to close his mouth, which he hadn’t even realized was open. “I told you that you two are similar.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tim muttered, and shook his head. “Similar.”

“Don’t think too hard about it, Tim.” Sasha patted his shoulder and grabbed her own clean tupperware, shaking her head at him. “You’ll just end up hurting yourself.”

She giggled when he shot an exaggerated pout at her.


End file.
